Saints and Sinners
by xXSwanSongXx
Summary: An injured woman, a bargain for a fair trade, and the key to bringing down the biggest threat to the Commonwealth. Paladin Danse thought he was helping her; saving her. He was wrong.
1. Out of Nowhere

It had been a long firefight, drawn out by the seemingly endless amounts of ghouls that kept pouring out of the ruins of Cambridge and laying siege to the small police station. Seconds ticked by like hours as another horde descended on the Paladin's team; made curious by the noise the laser rifles cast as the small group tore through each and every feral. After nearly a hour of the fighting, Danse put down the last of the former-humans with a final gut shot to ghoul that was already missing an arm and half of its face.

"Weapons going cold." He stated. The silence that took its place over the battlefield was a welcome sound. It was almost eery, the complete lack of gunfire and snarls that surround them as the dust settled. Danse would welcome the lack of sound any day. Any day not spent in active combat meant one less member of his team was not going home.

"Rhys!" Scribe Haylen's shriek rang out over the silence of the battle now ended. Danse turned on his heel, bringing his laser rifle to the crook of his shoulder, preparing to kill the one ghoul that slipped by him in the chaos. Before he even had his safety off, a shot rang out and hit the ghoul square in the temple. The damned creature went down just as it was lunging to attack the knight. Paladin Danse stood shocked in a millisecond of confusion, the bullet that killed the ghoul did not have the telltale red tail of an energy weapon. And the shot he had heard, that was from a pistol. Danse turned toward one of the broken gates to find whoever had killed the ghoul with such a precision shot.

Standing just inside the security gate, stood a woman. She wore a blue jumpsuit under a hodgepodge of leather and metal armor and an old school, pre-war assault mask. God, that thing was ugly. In one hand she clutched a rather impressive looking 10mm pistol that had been modified to the point that it was barely even a pistol any longer. The other hand clutched her side as she shambled into the compound. She stumbled into one of the barricades, the hand holding her side flew in front of her to brace her fall, but a large dog came out of nowhere, and took the brunt of her fall as her torso landed on its back. The dog whimpered, whether out of pain or concern Danse could not tell. But what was clear was the trail of blood left on the dog's fur as the stranger slumped off of him, finally hitting the ground with a muffled fwump.

"Sir!" Knight Rhys barked from somewhere behind Danse as the Paladin cautiously moved toward the injured woman and her dog. He held out his hand behind him, a gesture that told the Knight to shut up and hold his position. The noise from his power armor as he moved drowned out the sad whimpers that came from the dog as it lovingly nudged the woman's masked face with it's muzzle. As Danse came upon them, the dog turned to him, issuing a warning growl as it slowly moved in front of the woman. The dog was trying to protect her from this unknown man, and Danse couldn't fault the animal from obeying it's instincts to protect it's master.

"It's alright." Danse said calmly, holding out his hand out in front of him, not as an invitation for the dog to smell him, but as a peace offering to show he meant the woman no harm.

"Help me." A faint voice spoke from behind the dog. Her bloody hand slowly rose to the red bandana around the dog's neck, grasping onto it and pulling. Understanding this non-verbal order, the dog stood down but not before growling pointedly at Danse. Another warning that while the dog was obeying the command it would still be watching him closely.

"What happened?" Danse asked as he reached forward to inspect the wound.

"Ghoul … frag mine…" were the only audible words Danse could make out from the woman's feeble voice. Danse carefully pulled at the blue material just outside of the wounded section of her torso. From what he could see, there were no projectiles or shrapnel sticking out of the wound, but it would need to be cleaned and dressed properly to save the woman from an infection or death.

"I'm going to have to move you." Danse stated waiting for the woman's consent for him to begin treating her. She nodded. Or at least Danse thought she did, it was hard to tell with that ugly, green mask swallowing her head. "Rhys, help me get her inside." The paladin ordered. Moving the injured woman would need to be done with a delicate touch, any jolting or sharp movements could cause more damage if shrapnel was lodged inside the wound where he couldn't see it. And while Danse was adept at moving in his armor, he knew the suit too well to trust that he could move her without jostling her too much. Rhys wasn't the most graceful of his team, but he was the strongest outside of Danse and could be trusted to carry the woman safely. Rhys obeyed his orders without delay, sprinting over and carefully picking the woman up. She let out a soft whimper, causing the dog at her feet the whine empathetically.

Rhys moved quickly yet carefully, each step calculated to avoid any ferals - or pieces of them - while keeping the woman relatively stable. Haylen stood in the doorway, holding it open for Rhys as he worked his way inside.

"Lay her down on that cot." Haylen commanded, pointing to one of the sleeping bags on the far side of the room. Her medical training taking over her normally friendly demeanor. Now was not the time for niceties. Now was the time to save a woman's life. She would have killed for a more sterile environment to work in, but such a luxury would never be afforded to a field scribe on a recon mission. Hastily tearing through her field pack, Haylen searched for her emergency med kit. "Where?" She huffed, digging deeper into the pack when the med kit wasn't where it should have been.

"It's still on the counter from -" Rhys began, but was cut off when Haylen turned to retrieve it. Danse, being closest to the counter, chucked the small metal box at the scribe who caught it without any warning.

"Move." She ordered, kneeling down next to the injured woman. "Keep her talking." Haylen pulled out a pair of scissors, carefully cutting away the fabric surrounding the wound. She gently pried the fabric from the woman's skin to inspect the wound further.

"Uhh…" Rhys stuttered, looking from Haylen to the woman. A sharp dog's bark from outside the station pulled his attention away momentarily. Haylen had shut the door on the animal, locking it outside and away from where she would be working. The dog howled mournfully. The three soldiers could hear the animal clawing at the door, pleading to be let inside. "What's the dog's name?" Rhys finally asked, turning to look at the entrance where the dog was digging at the door.

"Dogmeat."

"You named your dog 'Dogmeat'?" He asked, surprised by the odd name.

"No." She answered cryptically. "Let him in…"

"I can't have an animal in here while I'm working." The scribe countered, not looking away from the wound as she carefully dredged a clean cloth through purified water. "It's already dirty enough in here, but having an animal -"

"He won't stop." The woman replied just as the doors shuddered with a thud. The dog was throwing itself into the doors. Without a word, Danse opened the door for the dog, who bounded inside and trotted over to the injured woman. Dogmeat laid on the opposite side of scribe Haylen, laying down next to the injured woman's thighs, and nuzzled his nose under her hand. The woman relaxed almost immediately, gently scratching the fur atop the dog's muzzle.

"Keep talking." The scribe ordered Rhys again. Even if he held a higher rank than the scribe, in this instance Haylen's expertise and medical training was far superior to the knights and he would gladly follow her orders.

"Umm… What - what is your name?" He asked, his mind stumbling to think of anything as Haylen carefully removed the leather armor covering her patient's chest and began unzipping the ravaged, blue jumpsuit.

"Grace." The woman replied meekly. Her voice was distant; she was fading fast.

"That's a pretty name." Rhys sucked at small talk. "That's a vault suit, right?"

"Vault 111."

"Were you born there?"

"No… Detroit. Moved - " Grace cried out from the pain of Haylen removing her vault suit from her shoulders. After a moment to collect her nerves, she continued. "Moved around a lot."

"Detroit… That, uh, that was in, um… Minnesota, right?" He had never been really good at pre-war geography. Especially pre-commonwealths-pre-war geography.

"Michigan. Both were in Great Midwest Commonwealth before the war."

Danse watched as Haylen worked through the routine of applying med-x and cleaning out the wound as Rhys kept the woman talking. He kept a close eye on Haylen as she worked to help the woman. Haylen needed this. She needed to be in the thick of caring for the woman, needed to feel the relief of keeping her alive; saving her. Losing so many members of their team in such a short period of time - one of which had been on his orders - played heavily on the scribe. But to be able to fix this woman, to bring her back from the brink, that would be all of the comfort Haylen could be provided at this moment. She could make up for the loss of her brothers and sisters if she could just keep this one woman alive. Danse knew Rhys offered some solitude, but as her commander, Danse wished he was better equipped to help his scribe deal with the harsh reality of the war they were waging and the casualties they had already suffered.

The paladin left his two teammates to help the woman and walked outside to begin repairing the fortifications surrounding the police station. The most tiresome task before him would be moving and disposing of the ghouls' bodies and dismembered body parts that littered the ground. In all of his years on the battlefield, Danse had never been able to get used to the smell of ferals. It wasn't the same overpowering smell of body odor and festering blood like super mutants. The smell of feral ghouls was much more subtle, but still invasive and nauseating; like a dead animal left to rot in the summer heat but was just far enough in the distance that it was barely noticeable. Withered ghouls smelled the worst. Their thin skin let out all sorts of smells that Danse didn't have the stomach to describe. Carting off the bodies of those former humans was slow work, but Danse was able to gradually clear them out. He left the bodies in an old dumpster just outside of the fortifications. It was far away enough that he would be able to burn the bodies without the smell getting too bad, but close enough to the police station that if he or his team came under attack the other party would be able to come to the rescue.

Once Danse had removed all of the ghoul corpses from the area, he set to work fixing the busted main gate. It had been closed when the first of the ghouls attacked. Somehow, the damned things managed to find a weak spot and break through. Assessing the broken parts would take some time to pinpoint what exactly had been the faulty culprit, time he did not want to waste when there were gaps in the security perimeter that needed to be fixed. It was quiet, relaxing work after the noise and chaos that had plagued them all afternoon. He pulled any pieces of scrap and junk he could find and were viable enough to hold the fort. Screws, hinges, and any other odds and ends that were normally in short supply were cannibalized from broken junk and made to secure the new gate. His years as a scrapper and scaver in Rivet City had taught Danse how to maximize productivity with as little waste as possible. Every piece and part of some junk could always be used to find a new purpose. Time ticked by slowly for Danse as he worked. He enjoyed this kind of work. The peace of it, of quiet work in a world that always seemed to have gun fights blazing on as background noise, gave Danse a sense of calm.

"I managed to stop the bleeding. She really only had the one gash. She's lucky it wasn't too deep. I packed the wound and patched her up as best I could." Haylen reported as she left the station to join Danse at the main gate. "But she needs a real doctor if we don't want her to get an infection or…"

'Die.' Danse thought to himself. As bad as he was at consoling Haylen, knew better than to say as much to the scribe. Haylen hunkered down next to Danse, quietly picking up a piece of discarded junk and began removing any nails or hardware she could find.

"Take a break, soldier." Danse ordered. "That kind of field dressing - "

"I will, Sir." Haylen responded knowing what Danse was going to say. "But right now, I've got too much adrenaline to sit still."

"Understood."

The pair worked in silence, Haylen pulling together pieces and parts Danse would need while he assembled a more solid gate. Their silence was quietly broken when Haylen giggled to herself. Danse looked over to her, his eyebrow quirked in question.

"That dog." Haylen replied. "It really doesn't like Rhys. The thing would growl at him whenever he would move."

"It does appear to be a rather loyal animal." Danse stated, not paying particular attention to the scribe. He was too absorbed in his work to pay any mind to chit chat and small talk. The pair moved slowly as they pieced together parts of the wall to hold the world at bay. At some point, Rhys joined them, keeping to himself as he moved barricades to cover the southern perimeter.

"How was she doing when you left?" Haylen asked, taking a momentary break from their work.

"Asleep." Rhys replied. "Kept mumbling something in her sleep. Kinda sounded like she was talking about a baby, but who knows after all those things she was saying."

"What sort of things?" Danse asked.

"When I was patching her up, she just kept… babbling about the strangest things. I'd like to attribute them to blood loss, but -"

"She's just crazy." Rhys interjected.

"What did she say?" Danse asked again.

"The weirdest was that she killed some ancient alien being held prisoner in an insane asylum that could move things with it's mind or… something."

"She keep saying one thing that stuck out…"Haylen sighed.

"You don't seriously believe her?" Rhys retorted.

"If it's true, it could be invaluable to the Brotherhood."

"She's nuts, Haylen. No way is it true."

"What?" Danse barked. He did not like that his two subordinates were arguing in front of him when he had expressly demanded an answer.

"She said she has a way into the Institute." Haylen replied.

"She also said she's pushing 240 years old. And a General of some civilian militia." Rhys stated, too loudly to be under his breath.

"Did she say how she can get into the Institute?"

"Sir, you can't be taking that woman seriously? She's either crazy or a chem addict."

"Shut up, soldier." Danse commanded. Rhys could be hard headed at times. So much so that he tried almost every nerve Danse had some days. And after a day like today, the knight's incessant bickering with Haylen was getting to be too much. "Did she say how she could get into the Institute?" Danse repeated his question.

"No, Sir." Haylen replied. "She just said she had to get to a place called Goodneighbor. Said there was someone there that could help her."


	2. Pay up or Ship Out

Walking into the police station, Danse found the woman - Grace had been her name - sleeping soundly where Haylen had dressed her wounds. The vault suit Grace had been wearing had been removed from her torso and rolled snuggly on her hips to expose her abdomen. Haylen had managed to find an old shirt from one of the lockers in the station and used that to cover Grace's chest. That hideous green assault mask had been removed and was currently propped under Grace's head like a pillow. Her face was turned away from him, but Danse could see what would have been a head of brilliantly blonde hair, If Grace did not have one half shaved and had what appeared to be grease smeared across her bald side around to her forehead. Her dog lay at her side, his head resting on the tops of her thighs.

"She looks like a damn raider." Rhys stated from beside Danse, having followed the paladin's train of thought perfectly. The only people Danse had ever seen wear any kind of face paint out in the wastes were high ranking raiders. But he had never come across a vault dweller turned raider. Or even a vault taken over by raiders. Gunners, yes. Wannabe gangsters, yes. Those groups were organized enough to take on the task of securing a vault. Raiders, though? There were too many internal power struggles from gang to gang to even begin considering taking on a vault.

"No." Haylen responded from the doorway. "She's no raider. No tract marks from Psycho, no mouth blisters from Jet. No signs of abuse or torture for initiations… Most raiders I've seen are covered in at least one of those."

"And how many raiders have you seen up close?" Rhys laughed lightly. Haylen may be a scribe, but she could put up one hell of a fight. There was a reason he had been her sponsor when she joined the Brotherhood, and as much as the pair bickered, he was proud of her tenacity and drive. Hell, he was proud of her.

"I used to walk the Wastes. I've seen my fair share of junkies and raiders." Haylen laughed, kneeling down beside Grace and placing her hand on the unconscious woman's forehead. Dogmeat issued a single bark, reminding everyone in the room that he was watching; protecting Grace. Danse had never seen a dog look so healthy before. Not many of the mutts in the wastes had much fur left on them, let alone a full coat and with no scars from fights. Not only that, but he was obviously well fed with none of his ribs or vertebrae showing through his skin.

"No raider would care for that animal like she has." Danse stated, nodding his chin toward Dogmeat. "He's well fed, well loved."

Dogmeat, seemingly picking up on Danse's vote of confidence, gave a playful yip at the soldiers. Grace stirred beneath him, responding slightly to the sound of the dog barking. She was in a med-x induced coma. Haylen had given her enough pain meds to knock her unconscious while she worked to remove any potential debris from the wound and to treat it with stimpaks.

"She needs a real doctor…" Haylen sighed, sitting down at the table beside Grace. "There's only so much a stimpak can do."

"The closest settlement with a doctor is probably that one south of the river… Emerald City?" Rhys asked no one in particular.

"That's from a pre-war story." Haylen snickered. "It's Diamond City. It's about a day, day-in-a-half's walk from here if you take the train tracks a couple miles west of Cambridge. But, I wouldn't want to move her just yet, and I doubt any doctor would come here -"

"No." Danse cut in. "It would not be advantageous to bring anyone else to this location. This patrol is here for reconnaissance, and the less foot traffic to this station, the better. Do what you can for her for now. When the time comes to discuss what is to be done further, we will discuss it then."

Danse's words were final. He did not issue any orders, but Haylen and Rhys knew there would be no further talks about what was to be done with the woman until it was either time to let her leave or to put her out of her misery. The three soldiers carried on with business as usual as the woman slept on the reception floor.

"So, when she wakes up," Haylen whispered to Rhys once Danse left the room, "what do you think the paladin is going to do with her?"

"I don't know. Doesn't matter does it?" Rhys replied with a noncommittal shrug. "She's not one of us. I don't really care what happens to her."

"She saved your life, Rhys." Haylen indignantly spat. "Or did you forget about that feral that nearly had you?"

"I didn't forget." Rhys scoffed. "But she used one bullet to save me. How many of our supplies - which are already low as is - have you used just to keep her breathing?"

"That's not the point."

"She saved my life. We saved hers. As far as I'm concerned, we're even. Hell, she even owes us for the supplies. But Danse won't make her pay up what she owes. Nah, he'll just be the noble bastard he is and let her walk out of here."

"You shouldn't talk about the paladin like that." Haylen sighed reproachfully.

"Look, you and I both know I've got nothing but respect for the man, but when it comes to civilians, he's a bit -"

"What?" Danse asked from the doorway. The paladin had overheard most of the two soldiers' conversation. At least, enough to know where each of them stood concerning their uninvited guest. His subordinates jumped and turned around to see their commander leaning against the frame, arms crossed his chest as he stared them down. He was actually out of his power armor, having needed to take a break and sit down for a minute. In the months that team Gladius had been stationed in the Commonwealth, Rhys and Haylen had seen the paladin out of his power armor maybe twice. He even managed to sleep in the damn thing, something Rhys could never understand. Wearing power armor wasn't uncomfortable it was just so claustrophobic; being encased in a giant suit of metal sometimes gave the knight the feeling of being buried alive.

"Sir, I meant-" Rhys started to apologize.

"You meant no disrespect." Danse answered for Rhys. "You know how I run my teams, knight," his tone a bite at Rhys' rank "If you have any suggestions for a smoother operation, I am always willing to hear you out."

"Sir, it's just that… Well, we were already running low before she showed up. Using up those supplies held no benefit to us."

"We saved her life." Haylen countered. "That's why I joined the Brotherhood; to help the people living out in the wastes like I had. I would use every supply in our arsenal if it meant keeping her alive."

"What do you suggest we do, knight?" Danse asked. "Or is it my understanding that you would seek out payment from her for saving her life?"

"Not necessarily payment, just… Something. We can't just let her go back out into the wastes where something else could kill her."

"We're not in this for a profit, Rhys." Scribe Haylen sighed. "I'm not going to hand her an itemized list of everything I used to save her life and say 'you owe us'. That's not how the Brotherhood should operate."

"That is not how the Brotherhood operates at all." Danse replied. "But," He added before either Rhys or Haylen could respond, "I do see Rhys' point. We are running dangerously low on med-x and stimpaks. And if we can't get word out for reinforcements soon, we may not be able to sustain this mission much longer."

"I may be of some use." A low, slightly groggy voice spoke from behind Danse. All three soldiers turned to see Grace awake and struggling to sit up.

"No, no. Don't sit up yet." Haylen said, rushing over to Grace's side to help lay the woman back down.

"I'll be fine." Grace argued, but relented only after a slight nudge from Dogmeat. A sigh that sounded more like a 'hmph' sounded from Grace as she laid back onto the sleeping bag. In the time that the three soldiers had been arguing and Grace had woken up, she had found a half empty bottle of purified water and a semi-clean rag to clean her face off with. She had removed most of the oil that covered her forehead and the side of her head, leaving only a few streaks of the shiny black goop. Without the grease covering her face, Danse noticed majority of her skin was covered in a plethora of freckles. But what caught all three soldiers slightly off guard were the piercing blue eyes that stared at them as Grace laid down. Most people coming out of a med-x coma had a glazed look about their eyes - if they were even able to open their eyes more than a squint. But Grace's eyes were alert, intense, and fully aware of everything happening around her.

"I left my pack behind when the mine went off. It's a block and a half north of here. There should be enough supplies in there to make up for what you've used." Though her eyes were wide and alert, her voice sounded as drugged as she should have looked. There was a slow drawl and slight lisp from her tongue being just numb enough that it was hard to move.

"We can't ask for you to do that." Haylen replied, busying herself by checking Grace's pulse and attending to the woman in little ways.

"Fair trade." Grace sighed, her head falling limp against her green assault mask. She shut her eyes, sighing deeply as she tried to ignore the pain in her side. "You help me, I help you."

"You already helped us." Haylen smiled. "You saved Rhys' life."

"One bullet for medical supplies…" Rhys mumbled, but Grace managed to hear him.

"Sounds like it was a waste of a bullet." Grace remarked. Haylen didn't know whether to laugh or protest the blonde woman's comment.

"What did you say?" Rhys questioned, stepping further into the main lobby. In his attempt to intimidate the injured woman, Rhys had forgotten about the dog laying a Grace's feet. Dogmeat sat up, growling as the hackles on his shoulders stood upright. Trying to relieve the tension that was quickly growing in the police station, Danse stepped in between Rhys and the dog.

"We appreciate the offer, but we cannot accept supplies from a civilian we gave medical attention to. If there is another way you'd wish to -"

"If you won't take the supplies, I can get you to a trader that will sell some." Grace spoke as a new round of med-x was starting to kick in. "There's a… settlement. Not far. Has a doctor." Her words were broken and chopped into irregular structures as she struggled to stay awake any longer.

"How far away is the settlement?" Danse asked.

"Six, seven miles south. Across the river. Closer - closer than Diamond City." The pain in Grace's side grew more profound than the relief from the med-x. There were multiple times she had to stop talking altogether to gather enough will not to scream out in pain.

"How safe is the route there?" Haylen asked.

"No deathclaws waiting to say 'hello'." Grace snorted. "Caravans travel it. They keep the pests under control."

"Could be worth it…" Haylen suggested, turning her head to look at Danse and Rhys. "And they may have other supplies we need; like parts to rig up a long range transmitter."

"You can't seriously be trusting her?"

"What evidence do you have that shows that she is not trustworthy?" Danse asked.

"She claims she's a 240 year old general of a militia." Rhys cried out.

"I am." Grace sighed. She turned her head to look directly into Rhys' eyes. Her blue eyes glaring into his without any sign of deception or ill-will. "I was born before the bombs fell. Vault-tec put me in cryogenic stasis for the last 210 years. I woke up a little over a year ago. The militia I run is called The Minutemen; after the revolutionary group back in the 1700s. I helped rebuild them. My lieutenant had me named general just a couple months ago… Still don't think I deserve the title."

"And the Institute?" Rhys asked incredulously.

"The Institute?" Grace chuckled. "How'd you know about that?"

"You told us you had a way in." Haylen replied.

"Maybe, maybe not. Don't know yet."

"What the hell does that mean?" Rhys asked.

"Who are you people?" Grace asked, ignoring Rhys.

"We're members of the Brotherhood of Steel." Haylen answered.

"The what?"

"We're military. On a need to know basis." Rhys stated.

"I figured as much out, Einstein. Grew up in the military. Married into the army. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"We… Well, our order finds technologies and ensure they aren't being abused." Haylen replied.

"Fancy way of saying you're looting everything for yourself."

"Looting," Danse replied, "implies we intend to benefit only ourselves. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"The institute is abusing its power?"

"The Institute is an affront to every tenant the Brotherhood holds dear. It's synths being the most egregious crime anyone can commit. And if you have a way in -"

"Might have a way in. Might be a recipe for a quiche. I don't know yet."

"What do you mean by that?" Danse asked.

"Ever heard of a Courser?"

"No." Rhys admitted.

"One of the newer model synths. Looks as human as you or me, but it's designed to track down escaped synths and take them back to the Institute. They're basically the Institute's Storm Troopers."

"Storm troopers?" Haylen asked.

"Pre-war soldiers. Adept at infiltration and elimination of targets." Danse replied.

"Bingo." Grace pointed to Danse with a lazy finger. "I killed one. I have an acquaintance in Boston. Hopefully, she can help decrypt a data chip from the courser that will tell me how I can get into the institute."

"Why would you want to get inside the Institute?" Rhys scoffed.

"They kidnapped my son. Killed my husband doing so. I was stuck in my cryopd and couldn't save them. Watched them execute my husband right in front of me. I will get my son back and they will pay for what they did to my family."

"That data could prove invaluable -" Danse was cut off by Grace.

"Ha. No." She laughed at him. "I don't know you people; don't know your endgame. You want into the Institute, you find your own way in. I'll get you to a trader to get supplies. After that, you're on your own. Fair trade. Nothing more, nothing less."


	3. Hard to Swallow

After two days of laying on the unforgiving sleeping bag, Grace had had enough. Her side didn't hurt nearly as bad when she arrived at the police station, but Haylen would not let Grace move from her makeshift bedroll. The scribe hovered around Grace whenever Paladin Danse had not given her a direct order to do something. Always fidgeting with Grace. Checking her pulse, feeling her forehead for a fever, changing her dressing and feeling for any heat coming off the wound; a telltale sign of infection. Dogmeat sensed Grace's frustrations and had actually started trying to nudge Haylen away from her whenever she would get too close. He never growled at her. He knew she had been the one to help save Grace's life, and he was above all a gentleman of a dog. But even gentlemen had their limits.

"Alright, that's enough." Grace sighed as she heard the scribe walking through the station towards her. She sat up, carefully using a nearby chair as leverage to stand.

"Oh, no. You're not ready to move around yet." Haylen protested.

"I'm fine." Grace waved her away dismissively. Once she was upright, Grace stood for a moment trying to catch her bearings before she would attempt to walk. When she didn't plummet to the ground immediately, Grace set off to find the Paladin. She didn't quite know what to make of the man. He was your standard military type; devoted, loyal to his cause, and noble to a fault. There was much in the way he carried himself that reminded Grace of Nate. His broad shoulders always square with a back so straight you could use it as a level; his head held high, not because he was self-righteous, but because he was confident and proud of his service; calculating eyes that could size a person up in an instant, but were also soft and kind with small laugh lines budding at their corners. But there was something about Danse that threw Grace off-kilter. Maybe it was his archaic vocabulary. Maybe it was because he simultaneously seemed so much like Nate and nothing at all like him. In all honesty, she expected the leader of the small squad to be more like knight Rhys. Hardheaded and stubborn, demanding a broader return for their investment in her than just a promise of supplies. At least, she would have demanded more.

A small twinge of guilt pulled at her gut. All of her talk of a fair trade, and she was giving them pittance in return for her life. She had access to something they obviously wanted. A way inside the Institute. And if what they said was true, if they were truly interested in stopping the Institute from any more kidnappings, from replacing people with synths? Then they could be a benefit, an asset, to Grace as well. She could use them in her search for Shaun. But only a small fraction of her brain was telling her to trust these people. Everything else was screaming at her that the Brotherhood could be dangerous. They were military, and one thing always rang true of military might that had become too big. Their endgame involved a hell of a lot of destruction in the name of progress. She had seen it in her father growing up, the toll commanding soldiers took on him; watched on television as countless people were rounded up from their homes and forced into internment camps; helped Nate live through the PTSD that got him sent home from Anchorage. And if their plans in any way put her child in danger, they were a tool best left discarded. No. They weren't getting the short end of the stick, Grace decided as she ambled slowly into the back of the police station. She was doing what was right for Shaun. Wasn't she?

"Haylen let you up?" Danse asked as Grace found him in the old evidence lock up. He was sitting at a terminal, writing up some kind of log or another.

"No, I did not." Haylen cried from the other room.

"No, she did not." Grace repeated. Danse smirked for a split second, his eyes never leaving the screen as he typed.

"Then why are you up and moving?" He asked with the authority of a commander.

"I need to go get my pack. Make sure raiders or scavers willing to brave the ghouls haven't stolen it." Grace replied, leaning the majority of her weight against the doorframe. The pain she felt wasn't as excruciating as it had been, but Grace couldn't ignore the fact that she would have to sit down soon. If the dull throb that radiated from her torso didn't buckle her knees first. "After that, we can head out. I'll take you to that settlement to resupply."

"No. You are in no condition to be traveling yet." Haylen yelled across the station.

"Dear lord, is her hearing always that good?" Grace asked, looking out into the station to see where in the hell Haylen was standing.

"Yes." Danse replied. "You are grounded here until Haylen clears you for traveling."

"I'm fine." Grace protested, a phrase that had become a personal mantra in the past few days. "Your scribe has done a good job. I can move with little pain," a lie, "and the more time we waste here, the more time goes without me getting checked out by a doctor. I don't doubt your scribe's abilities," Grace added before Danse could protest, "but she herself has said I need a real doctor that can do more than field dress a wound."

"She's got you there, Haylen." Rhys' voice echoed in the station.

"Are we standing in a whisper spot?" Grace wondering, looking for either Haylen or Rhys. Both of whom were nowhere to be found.

"Once Haylen clears you, then we can move out." Danse repeated himself, finally turning to look away from the computer.

"What about my pack?" Grace asked, staring into his deep, russet brown eyes.

"Where is it?" Danse asked, standing from the desk and stretching out a kink in his shoulder.

"Why?" Grace's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"If you are truly worried about the pack, we can retrieve it for you."

"The Courser chip isn't in it if that's what you're after."

"I had no intention of robbing you." Danse replied, slightly insulted by Grace's mistrust. "If anything, I would think our actions have suggested we mean no ill-will."

"I'm sorry." Grace held up her hands in apology. "Not easy to trust people out here." Grace ran her hand through her floppy mohawk of hair in defeat. "Block and a half north. East side of the street. There's an old mom and pop diner just outside of the old metro station. I hid the pack in a hole in the bathroom wall."

"That was your contingency plan against raiders and scavers?" Rhys scoffed from somewhere behind Grace.

"I had just been blown up by a ghoul. I think I deserve a little credit for not just leaving the pack in the middle of the street." Grace bickered back at the knight.

"Rhys," Danse interrupted before another argument could begin, "You and Haylen move out and secure the pack. I'll stand watch on the perimeter gate."

"Sir, I don't see the point -"

"That's an order, soldier."

"Yessir."

"Thank you." Grace sighed after a moment.

"It's only a pack - "

"No." Grace turned to face Danse, still resting against to door frame. "Thank you for all of your help. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you and your team."

"I am not in the habit of leaving civilians to die."

"I know," Grace snorted at Danse comment, "But, still. You didn't have to help."

"What are you doing in Cambridge, anyway?" Danse asked. "It's a bit out of the way to Boston."

"I picked up your radio beacon on this." Grace lifted her left arm, showing off the pip-boy on her wrist. Danse had to admit, he was slightly jealous of that thing. He had heard about pip-boys, never seen a working one before. Danse had always wanted to test one out, see what all the fuss was about a personal computer. "I bagged the Courser not too far from here. In all honesty, it wasn't really that far out of my way to head here. Figured, if there was anything I could do to help… Ran into a small horde that was in a frenzy from the gun fight you were in. One of 'em managed to trip a mine… next thing I know, I'm laying in a pool of blood about 50 feet from where I was just standing. Side all torn to shreds, hurting like hell, ringing in my ears so loud I couldn't even hear your laser rifles going off. Went from thinking I could help you to figuring you were my best shot for survival. I was lucky, though."

"Oh?"

"Dogmeat was quite a ways ahead of me ripping into a feral. If he had been by my side when the blast went off… I've lost too much in the last year, and I don't think I could have handled losing him, too." Grace looked down at her feet where Dogmeat was sitting. He was always on duty. The dog looked back up at Grace, his tail wagging cheerfully as he lovingly licked her hand.

"How did you find him?"

"Dogmeat found me." Grace sighed. "First day out of the vault. I was scared shitless. Everything I had ever known was reduced to rubble and nuclear waste. I was just walking aimlessly, hoping maybe I could find someone who would be willing to help me find Shaun - my son. And then there he was. Big, beautiful Dogmeat. Came right up to me, gave me a sniff and then ran off. I thought he was just some stray mutt. But, when I didn't follow him, he came back for me. Lead me into Concord, straight to a group of Minutemen. He's stuck by me ever since."

"A good dog will always be loyal to its master."

"Nah, I'm not his master. Dogmeat's his own man." Grace echoed Mama Murphy's words. "He just knows who his friends are."

"You're lucky to have him." Danse replied, watching Dogmeat as he looked up at Grace. Maybe she was right. Maybe Dogmeat had no master. But Danse knew loyalty. He could always see who was devoted to a cause, to the Brotherhood, to another person better than most thought him capable. And that dog was loyal to her. Dogmeat would follow her to the ends of the Earth, until death parted them. And even then, the dog would probably still follow her. She may not be his master, but she sure as hell was his human.

"We're ready to head out, sir." Rhys stated, his voice finally having a body when Grace turned to look at him.

"Very well." Danse nodded his head. "I trust you can manage being alone in here for a few minutes?" The only response Danse received was a derisive snort. Grace pushed herself from the doorframe and passed Danse and his knight, walking back to the front reception. She sat at the table next to her sleeping bag and began to pick at the dirt on her hands. "Let's move out."

The three soldiers walked out of the police station and immediately turned north. "East side of the street in an old diner." Danse reminded his subordinates as they departed. From his vantage point on the catwalk, danse could pinpoint exactly which building Grace had hid her pack. The busted out windows from the diner provided an almost complete view inside the old eatery, with only one section of the front counter hidden from view. He stood guard, laser rifle nestled comfortably in the crook of his shoulder as Rhys and Haylen carefully navigated north for a block and a half.

"This is stupid." Rhys huffed when he knew they were out of earshot from Danse.

"Quit complaining." Haylen replied, turning into the diner and heading straight for the old bathroom. Rhys stayed just inside the doorway, watching to metro station for any signs of ghoul activity. The streets were dead, and after the amount of ghouls they shot down two days earlier, he would be surprised if there were many left in the immediate area.

Ghouls were notoriously territorial. Few would venture outside of a spot a horde had claimed once they bunkered down; usually this meant they all fell asleep in one spot and would only occasionally move if a noise alerted them. Some were more restless than others, shambling about for a few hours before laying back down or picking something to eat out of one dead animal or another. But once a horde was awake, there was damn near nothing that could stop them until someone was dead.

"Found it." Haylen exclaimed, scurrying out of the bathroom with an old backpack in hand.

"Let me see that." Rhys held his hand out for the pack.

"Why?" Haylen asked, suspicious of his intentions.

"Just let me see it." He ordered, swiping the backpack out of Haylen's hands before she had time to react. Rhys set the pack on the counter and began unzipping one of the pockets. "Let's see what essentials the crazy lady packed." He snorted as he pulled out various odds and ends from the backpack.

"Rhys! No!" Haylen tried to grab the backpack, but Rhys dodged her hands.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" He smirked as he pulled out a small box containing an assortment of ammo, the most of which were 10mm rounds. One by one, Rhys laid out each item that belonged to Grace. Ammo, a box stuffed with bobby pins, a rather impressively stocked med kit, a pre-war sewing kit, and a fabric pouch filled with an absurd amount of caps. "Man." Rhys sighed, disappointed by his findings.

"That's enough, Rhys." Haylen nearly yelled at him as she again tried to tear the pack away.

"Hold on a sec…" Rhys found a pocket inside the pack that he had missed before. Inside of it was a small metal box, barely bigger than the size of his palm. Engraved in an elegant script on the top of the box were the words:

Nathaniel James

Wilhelmina Grace

December 15, 2075

As curious about the box as Rhys was, Haylen stopped her protests and inched closer to the knight to get a better look at the object. With a newfound reverence, Rhys opened the box slowly, suddenly afraid of what he might find inside. Only three things rested inside the box, but Rhys took them out one by one, slowly inspecting each object to verify what he was seeing.

A set of dog tags. Obviously pre-war. They weren't even holotags. Old school, punched metal dog tags that were last issued out just as the battle at Anchorage had begun. The cold metal of both tags said the same information:

Houston

Nathaniel J.

999 22 7844

B Positive

Catholic

A gold ring. Sized to fit a man. Haylen had heard of the practice, before the war, in which married couples would exchange rings as a symbol of their vows to one another. She had noticed Grace wore a solitary gold ring on one of her fingers, but had thought nothing of it until that moment.

A circular baby rattle, just big enough that an infant could grasp onto it and hold comfortably.

"2075." Rhys whispered, looking at the date on the lid of the box. "She… She's telling the truth." He was dismayed by the fact that maybe Grace wasn't crazy after all.

"Put it back. Now." Haylen ordered as she began stuffing the dislocated objects back in their home inside the pack.

"She's 240 years old…"

"Rhys." Haylen snapped her fingers in front of his nose. The knight came back to reality, looking over to Haylen in confusion. "Put them back."

Rhys nodded, carefully putting the three precious pieces of Grace's life back inside the box. Haylen grabbed the metal box from him, stuffing it in the secret pocket and forcefully zipping the pack closed. She was angry at Rhys for making her part of his intrusion on Grace's private affairs, angry at herself from allowing him to do so. And a part of her was angry at Grace for being right; for being the 200 some-odd year old woman looking for her son. The thought of it being true hadn't truly been real up until that point. Her information about the Institute, that could be real. It had to be real to Haylen. Someone somewhere had to have the key to get inside that damned place. But this, this woman out of time, out of place, stuck in this horrid wasteland of a world when she had know what things were like when they were green, when trees grew leaves, when the air didn't always hold the stench of gun fights and ozone. It angered her beyond reason. No one should know what that world had been like. No one should have to live through this form of hell when they had once had a peaceful life.

It took everything Haylen had to walk back to the police station without breaking down and crying. She knew both Rhys and Danse were watching and she couldn't bring herself to show them how much Grace's reality shook her. Made her want to mourn for the world Grace had lost, the family she had lost.

"What took you so long?" Danse asked once the two teammates passed beneath the catwalk.

"The pack was stuck." Rhys answered for them. "Don't know how she managed to get it lodged so far in the wall."

The three soldiers walked into the police station to find Grace sitting right where they had left her.

"You found it!" She exclaimed, standing up to retrieve the pack from Haylen. A wave of relief washed over Grace when she felt the fabric of her backpack in her hands. "Thank you." Grace sighed, clutching the pack to her chest. Rhys said nothing, just walked out of the room and headed further into the station.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Haylen stated, "I hope everything is still in there."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Grace chuckled mildly. The scribe merely shrugged in response. She left the room, following Rhys, wherever he had gone. She found him sitting on one of the beds in the cells and closed the door behind her.

"It's true. Everything she said is true." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't speak a word of what we found to either of them." Haylen hissed.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." Haylen plopped down on the cell bed next to Rhys. "Her life… Everything she knew…"

"It's fucked up." Rhys agreed.


	4. On The Road

Grace sat down at the table in the reception area silently playing with the dirt under her nails as the three soldiers walked out to retrieve her backpack. Waiting a few seconds after she heard the door latch catch, Grace folded over onto the table, letting out a painful groan. Hoping maybe if she moaned loud enough she could force the stinging in her side to will itself away. But it wasn't just the wound that was forcing her through hell. It was the med-x.

Just under a year ago, when she had first found herself roaming the commonwealth with nothing more than a gun and a dog, it had been easier to mask the pain of losing Nate, loosing Shaun, losing every goddamned thing she had ever loved with that blissful painkiller than to deal with the heartbreak of knowing Nate was frozen in a graveyard vault. Grace had been creative in the places she would inject herself, most of the tract marks could be found on the skin between her toes, although she would be lying to admit there weren't others scattered across her body. Most of those were in inconspicuous spots; positioned to look like they had been injected near some wound or other. It had been a chance encounter in Goodneighbor months after Grace had emerged from the vault that finally got her on track to getting clean. If the addicts there told you you had a problem, you had a problem.

And Haylen, sweet well-meaning Haylen had kept Grace on a constant stream of the stuff in the days she had been there; unknowingly reviving an addiction that Grace had fought hard to keep at bay.

"Shit." Grace hissed, lightly pounding her head against the table. Dogmeat quietly padded up to her side, nudging his nose against Grace's thigh. "I know, Bud." She sighed, resting her hand atop his head and gently scratching behind an ear. "We'll get through this… I'm not going back to that." Dogmeat whined quietly. But Grace knew that if he could talk he would be reproaching her. One of the few beings in this world that knew her dirty little secret. And he had stuck by her, but there was some part of Grace, a small piece in the back of her mind that told her that Dogmeat did not like what she had done. It could have been that she was projecting her own self-loathing onto Dogmeat, but Grace knew he was a smart dog - smarter than any dog she had known eve before the war. Grace sat with her head on the table trying to will away that nagging voice in her head telling her to scrounge through Haylen's med kit and take just a half dose of med-x. Just a half dose would be all she would need to make the ache stop. Just put it on pause for a little while longer.

"Don't do it. Do not do it, Wilhelmina Grace. You are better than this." Grace was starting to loose her resolve to stay put at the table when she heard the front door open. Her head instantly left the table, sitting upright as the three soldiers climbed the steps to the reception area.

"You found it!" Grace exclaimed, the pain in her side and the nagging in her brain forgotten as she stood to retrieve her pack. The feeling of the rough fabric in her hands made an instant wash of relief flood her system. Nothing else mattered anymore now that she had her pack back. "Thank you." She sighed, clutching it tightly against her chest.

"I hope everything is still there." Haylen sighed before she left the room behind Rhys. Grace sat back down at the table before unzipping the pack eagerly. She left most of her things alone, instead making straight for the hidden pocket that held the metal box. Everything else in the pack could be replaced, but if she lost that small box she would have nothing left of Nate and Shaun.

"I'm glad to see it's safe return." Danse said as he nodded at the backpack, pulling Grace momentarily out of her reverie.

"Me too." Grace sighed. Feeling the cool metal of the box in her hand, Grace smiled lightly. She pulled the box out of its hiding spot. Tracing over Nate's name with her finger, Grace closed her eyes, the smile growing deeper across her face. The Paladin resisted the urge to ask what the box was, instead turning on his heel to leave Grace alone.

"Thank you. Again." Grace said.

"You're welcome." Danse replied, turning to see Grace opening the box and pulling out a set of dog tags. She clutched them tight in her palms before lifting her hands to her lips and kissing the metal.

"I'd be lost without these." Grace said, not caring if Danse was staying or going. He watched her put tags back in the box, closing it before putting the box inside the pack. Grace looked up to the paladin, her smile fading slightly once the dog tags had been put back in their hiding space. Danse nodded and left Grace alone to sort through her things.

"Sir, if I can have a moment?" Haylen asked, meeting him in the hallway.

"Yes?" Danse asked.

"Grace should be good to travel tomorrow. I think it would be best for her to leave sooner rather than later."

"May I ask the sudden change of heart?"

"I… She's been through enough, and I can't justify keeping her here any longer. She needs a real doctor."

"What did you see when you and Rhys got the pack?" Danse asked, seeing through Haylen. She had always been a terrible liar, something that Danse had found endearing about the scribe. Try as hard as she could, Haylen was just too easy to read. It was her eyes. No matter the lie, her eyes were never convinced of the lie she was trying to tell.

"Sir?" Haylen asked.

"What did you two see to make you change your mind?"

"Nothing, Sir." Haylen tried to keep up the lie. She knew Danse could see through her, but what could she say? She had rummaged through Grace's things and was feeling guilty? She knew Grace was right and needed a doctor. Changing the subject Haylen stated, "When we get to this settlement, we will need to look for some specific items. Hopefully they will have things that can allow us to set up a long-range transmitter so we can contact the rest of the Brotherhood."

"We?" Danse asked, quirking an eyebrow at Haylen.

"We." She nodded. "First rule of small team tactics; always stick together." Haylen smiled as she recited one of Danse's myriad of teachings back at him. He was always imparting some philosophy about being a soldier to her and Rhys. Half of the time, Danse wasn't sure if they actually listened to him or if he was just talking to a wall. But it was nice to hear Haylen repeat one of his lessons.

"In this instance, soldier, it would be best if the civilian and I go alone." Danse replied. "You and Rhys will stay here and secure the station."

"And once you've taken Grace to the settlement? You're planning on coming back here on your own?"

"Affirmative."

"Permission to speak freely?" Haylen asked.

"Go ahead."

"That's about the dumbest thing I've heard in a long time." Haylen scolded him. "Sir, we're in an unfamiliar area, we don't know how far away that settlement truly is, and … we've already lost too many members of this team. If something were to happen to you while -"

"I understand the concern, scribe. But it is imperative that someone stay here to guard our post. You and Rhys make an excellent team. I will take her to the settlement and procure a safe return once there."

"Sir, I don't like the idea of splitting up." Haylen argued.

"Do you have another plan?" Danse asked.

"I… No." Haylen sighed. "I would just like my objection to this plan on record."

"Noted." Danse nodded.

"Sir?" Rhys asked walking into the hallway behind Haylen.

"Yes?"

"I know that she has said that she isn't willing to share that chip with us, but if there is anyway we can get information on Institute from her… She may have better information than the readings Haylen's sensors keep picking up. There has to be something the Brotherhood can use from her."

"Do you share this sentiment?" Danse asked Haylen. Her eyes grew wide as she was put on the spot.

"I think that if Grace is willing to share information, then we can use it." Haylen muttered. "Either way, Grace has a settlement that we can get resources from to call in backup."

"And if she does have a way into the Institute, Elder Maxson would want to know." Rhys interjected. Danse knew the knight was right. He nodded his head lightly, agreeing with Rhys. Mason would want this information. Possibly even take action against Grace to get his hands on whatever data that chip contained.

"First, we get a transmission through to the Brotherhood. Once that is completed, we will discuss, with Grace, if she would be willing to share this information with us. The civilian and I will head out tomorrow." Danse stated with the finality of an officer. Haylen and Rhys saluted in response before dispersing in separate directions for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

"This is the route that we'll take." Grace stated, showing Danse the map on her pip-boy display. The sun was just beginning to crest above the horizon; dawn quickly approaching. "We'll need to head west and then take the train tracks south across the river. Follow that for a bit, then we'll head east for a couple miles. We should be to the settlement by, I'd say no later than nine. If the path is clear."

"And if it isn't?" Danse asked.

"Then we'll get there by 9:30." Grace deadpanned with a slight smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "Caravans run this route; it's the quickest way to cross the river without risking your way through downtown Boston. If we run into any trouble, it will probably be a couple mutts looking for some food. There aren't a lot of ghoul hordes like here in Cambridge, supermutants stick to the ruins, and no one's seen raiders in the area in months."

"Isn't there a bridge just outside of Cambridge that we could take south?"

"No. Well, yes, there is a bridge." Grace admitted. "Stay off the bridge. There was a raider gang I helped clear out of the old brewing factory nearby and the Minutemen still haven't found all of the traps those assholes set up outside. The train tracks are safe and secure, and they are the most direct route."

"Affirmative. Let's move out." Danse stated. "You take point."

Grace nodded, pulling lightly on the shirt she was wearing underneath her hodgepodge of leather and metal armor. The top half of Grace's vault suit was in tatters. Between the shrapnel from the mine and Haylen cutting away fabric from her wound, there was not much left to the suit that would provide any protection. For now, Grace would have to make due with the 200 year old shirt that had been left behind before the bombs. It was about three sizes too big, and under her armor it hung from her in weird ways that irritated Grace. She was used to the tight fitting vault suit, the loose fabric didn't feel right.

Danse and Grace walked in silence, exiting the alleyway behind the police station and immediately turning west on the road. Grace kept her pistol at her side, finger resting on the safety just in case. It was an uneventful walk to the tracks. A few ghoul bodies were strewn about the road; killed off by Danse and his team a few weeks earlier. The smell of the rotting bodies had overtaken the area making Grace gag on what little bile was in her stomach. Danse's air filters in his helmet took care of majority of the smell, but he felt a slight twinge of guilt as he listened to Grace swallow back her gags. Holding her hand over her mouth, Grace coughed back the vomit as best she could, fighting her urge to run as quickly as she could to get out of the immediate area.

"The odor will dissipate soon." Danse reassured Grace, quickening his pace to help her out. "Tell me," Danse said once Grace's coughing fit died out, "where did you learn to shoot?"

"Sorry?" Grace asked, swallowing back the last of the bile.

"When you first arrived, you killed a ghoul with a remarkable headshot while bleeding out in the street."

"Was it a headshot?" Grace mused to herself with a mild chuckle. "Heh. I was aiming for it's stomach."

"Were you?" Danse was unsure if she was joking or not. In the few days Danse had known the woman, he had gotten the distinct feeling that she was quite sarcastic. So much so that Grace had managed to fool Haylen into believing her a couple of times. Sarcasm flowed out of Grace's mouth so easily that Danse honestly had a hard time reading her.

"Probably. Don't really remember much after getting rid of the backpack." Grace shrugged honestly before turning south across the red bridge holding the train tracks. Danse followed obediently, taking deliberate steps to walk on the trestle tracks. At the foot of the bridge, Grace hopped up on on an old train car that was long abandoned.

"Careful." She stated as she moved around the car with a light foot. "There's a couple broken trestles right here," she pointed to the front right side of the car, "I don't know if they'll hold your weight in the power armor. I'd climb up the back and hoof it overtop if I were you."

Danse nodded, following Grace's suggestion and climbed up the back of the train car before reaching Grace's position. As he climbed and walked across the train car, Grace was momentarily out of view. He didn't like not being able to see her - all of his training and soldiering yelled at him for splitting up even for only a moment. But after a few seconds, Grace came into view as he reached the edge of the car. There was a slightly pained look to her face. From her face and the way Grace held herself, Danse knew her wound was bothering her. But there was more to it. Something else was bothering her, but she was trying like hell to hide it.

"Are you alright?" Danse asked, climbing back down.

"I'll be fine once I get to a doctor." Grace turned on her heel and continued walking. Slowly, a two-story building came into view. A couple of caravan brahmin were resting just outside a fence that surrounded the building. There were a couple traders gathering near the brahmin talking with two men in odd looking hats. It was far too soon to be coming upon the settlement Grace had told him about, and the sight of the Wastelanders made Danse feel even more cautious than usual. Danse slowed his pace as Grace continued on. "It's alright, Soldier Boy." Grace chuckled. "They're with me." Before Danse could question it, one of the men in the strange hats noticed Grace walking along the tracks.

"General!" The man shouted, waving happily towards her. The other hatted man and the traders turned to look in Grace's direction, wide smiles across their faces were obviously visible even from Danse's distance. Their faces dropped as soon as they noticed the heavily armored man lumbering a few feet behind The General. The Minuteman that had called out to her slowly pulled his laser musket to his chest.

"Stand down." Grace called out to him. The Minuteman did not drop his weapon but cautiously walked forward.

"Are you alright, General?" The man asked. As he came forward, Danse notice he was a dark skinned man wearing one of the strangest getups he had ever seen.

"I'm fine, Preston." Grace answered pulling the man into a hug. "Why aren't you at the Castle?"

"Heard of a settlement out this way that needed some help. I knew you were in the area and we hadn't heard from you in awhile and figured two birds, one stone." Preston replied, returning the hug and holding Grace just a little too tightly. "You're lying." Preston accused when he heard Grace hiss in pain.

"Just a minor wound. We're headed out to 81 to see Forsythe." Grace replied dismissively.

"We?" Preston pointed his chin towards the paladin.

"This is Danse." Grace motioned for Danse to hurry up towards her. "His people cleaned me up and he's making sure I get to 81 safely."

"I appreciate that." Preston dropped his musket to his side and held out a hand to shake Danse's, accepting Grace's vote of confidence. "Preston Garvey." He said as Danse reluctantly took hold of Preston's hand. He could tell this Minuteman was of a gentle and kind nature. Above all else, this man before him was a protector and a worrier of the people in his care. Danse could respect that. This Preston wasn't a natural born leader, but there was something about this man that Danse knew to be a good, loyal soldier.

"Danse." Replied, giving the handshake one solid shake before letting go of Preston's hand.

"Hey, Dogmeat." Preston dropped down to one knee to pat the dog on the head. "You taking good care of our General?" Dogmeat yipped happily, tail wagging so fervently against Grace's thigh it was going to leave a bruise. Preston stood, one hand still scratching behind Dogmeat's ear. "With all due respect, General. If you'd prefer, I can take you the rest of the way. I'm sure you'd like to get back to your people, Danse." Preston stated, shifting focus between Grace and Danse.

"We made a deal." Grace shut Preston down. "There's some trading he needs to get done and 81 is the closest." Preston nodded.

"Take care, General. They need you back at Sanctuary." He said earnestly, hugging Grace one more time.

"Will do, Lieutenant." Grace chuckled and returned the hug. "Take care of the Castle while I'm gone."

Preston tipped his hat to Danse as he beckoned the other Minuteman to follow him. They began walking back the way Danse and Grace had come. "Preston!" Grace called out before he could get too far away. "Get a message back to Sturges. I may need him when I get back."

"Got it." Preston waved over his shoulder, before swiftly climbing over the broken trestles by the train car.

"Lieutenant…" Danse mused. "He's the one that had you named 'General'?"

"Yes. He's a good man." Grace stated, absolutely no trace of sarcasm lacing her words. Danse would have known this to be true even if Grace hadn't said anything. "One of the Minutemen Dogmeat lead me to when I got out of the vault."

"What is this place?" Danse asked as they passed the white building and the caravan traders. He couldn't see through the junk pile fence that had been erected around the perimeter of the settlement, but Danse could hear the sounds of life and activity happening inside of it's walls.

"Oberland Station." Grace replied, waving to a figure standing behind the windows of the building. "It's one of the farming settlements under Minuteman protection."

"What do they farm?"

"Tatos, mostly. Some caravan trade is picking up, but nothing to really make it much of a trading outpost just yet. It's a decent stop between settlements north of the river and Diamond City. We're working to get some more caravans lined up to work out here. Like I said, it's a safer route that the Boston ruins."

"How extensive are these Minutemen of yours?"

"They're not mine." Grace replied. "The Minutemen were around long before I got here."

"You are their general." To which Danse was met with a haughty snort.

"I just helped them get their boots back on the ground. I don't actually lead them. I'm just… a figurehead. Someone to wave a banner for, not someone who actually leads."

"I don't believe that." Danse argued. "Preston believes in you. Believes you are the general of his militia."

"They needed someone to believe in when I found them." Grace agreed. "But every thing that's happened in the last year was their own doing. I just helped them see their potential."

"As a good leader does."

"Touché." Grace laughed good-naturedly.

Silence overtook them again as they continued on for a couple more miles. A wrecked train came into view next to an old building. Without warning, Grace held out her hand in front of Danse, making him stop. He looked down to her, to find Grace staring intently ahead of them. Her hand left Danse's armored torso to point at one of the train cars.

"Ghoul. Under the car." She whispered, her finger pointing directly at a ghoul lounging just next to the train car's wheel.

"Affirmative." Danse whispered in response. Grace finger left the ghoul's position and motioned for Danse to follow her. She left the tracks, turning east into the woods surrounding them. "Grace?"

"Yes?" She hissed, turning back to look at Danse with an air of anger. They needed to be quiet and stealthy to avoid fighting with the ghouls. It was hard enough to be stealthy with the noise of Danse's power armor, but his voice was not helping the situation.

"It needs to be put down."

"Fuck that. We need to get to 81."

"That thing is an aberration of nature. It needs to be put down."

"I don't have time for this. You want to kill the thing, kill it. But you don't know how many are out there right now. And if you wake up a horde it's not just you and me taking up that fight." Grace growled at him as she pointed back toward Oberland Station. Through her whispered hissing, Danse got a taste of the leader that Preston had been so enamored with. She understood the danger of the current situation and instead of jumping in, guns blazing in a moment of reckless abandon, Grace was thinking of her people, the settlers that trusted her, miles off that could feel the aftermath of waking a horde.

"Understood." Danse conceded after a moment of deliberation.

"Thank you." She turned completely from him, climbing down a precarious hill of crags and rocks until she came upon a road that head due east. "This is the road we want anyway." Grace had barely gotten the words out when the sound of a laser pistol resounded above her head and a red tail shot across the street. "Dammit, Danse!" Grace called out just as a ghoul rolled down the the rocks across the street from her. The burns from a energy weapon blasted across the creature's neck.

"Shit." Grace hunkered down into a crouch, drawing her weapon and scanning the terrain for more ghouls. Dogmeat stood beside her, his hackles raised in anticipation for a fight. Another shot rang out above Grace. She turned to see Danse shooting the ghoul that had been under the train car. The thing had been close enough to Danse that when it was hit with the energy bullet the ghoul turned to ash before them. There was a snarl from Grace's right as a ghoul ran towards her from the overpass under the train tracks. Swinging her torso from the hips, Grace shot the ghoul landing a hit to it's right clavicle and breast. Another double tap from her gun landed two hits to the clavicle and neck. Dogmeat lunged at the ghoul, tearing into it's leg and downing the creature. Crumpling in on itself, the ghoul fell to the ground rather gracefully. Using the advantage Dogmeat had on the prone ghoul, he jumped on it's back, biting down on the marrow of it's neck and shaking his head vigorously.

"On your left!" Danse shouted just as another ghoul came into Grace's view. She managed to swing to the left just as Danse and Grace both shot the ghoul barreling towards her. Only one shot from Grace hit the ghoul before there was a hand pulling at her leather chest plate from behind. The ghoulish hand pulled Grace backward, throwing her off balance and pinning her to the ground. Grace's gun was thrown from her hand on impact. It skidded across the ground a couple inches, just out of reach of her fingers. Putrid salvia poured from the ghoul's mouth as it snarled, climbing on top of her and bit at Grace's face.

Managing to wedge her right arm under the ghoul's jaw, keeping its rotting teeth from biting down on her face and nose. Its dirty, rotten nails dug into Grace's side, ripping into the threadbare fabric of her shirt, and pulling open the wound. Screaming in pain, Grace used any leverage she had to push her elbow under the ghoul's jaw and push it away from her. Blood from the wound pooled around her back as she tried prying the ghoul off of her. The scent of fresh blood threw the ghoul into a frenzy, leaving its attack at her face to bite at Grace's side. Taking advantage of the ghoul's movement, Grace used whatever strength she had to try to push the creature off of her. Managing to land a knee in the ghoul's chest, Grace stretched her hand out to grab her gun and take aim at the monster just as its teeth tore into her side. The sharp piercing feeling of its teeth pulled at her skin, tearing a small chunk of flesh off of her body with fabric from Grace's shirt and bandages. It spit out the fabric and chunks of her flesh before barring down on her side again. Firing off the bullet, Grace closed her eyes and let out a wretched scream, not caring if the shot landed or not. By grace of some god, Grace's blind shot managed to hit the ghoul in the main artery of its neck. It slumped down, finally resting on top of Grace's body, it's face jostling just so it's irradiated, dead eyes stared at her, a piece of flesh and meat hanging from it's limp mouth as Grace's blood created a crimson halo about it.


	5. Here Comes The Sun

"What do you think? Boy or girl?" Nate asked, his head resting gently against Grace's stomach as he listened for signs of life. His big russet brown eyes staring up at her gleefully. The thought of being a father had never really crossed his mind, but now that he was going to be one, he was determined to do everything in his power to give that child the best life possible. They may not have much, what with his retirement stipend ever shrinking, hospital bills, and Grace's student loans surmounting in a dreaded deadline. But Nate would make sure Grace and their child wanted for nothing. Even if he had to go back into the civilian workforce, he would do it.

"It's too early to make guesses yet. I'm just barely at six weeks." Grace sighed contentedly, the sun shining down on them as they lay in their backyard. It was a beautiful spring day, just warm enough that laying on a blanket in the sun hit the spot. Her hand gently played with Nate's hair. He had grown it out since being discharged. So much so that he had to pull it back in a small pony tail when they went into town. But when he was home, he let the long hair freely flow. Grace had to admit, she liked the look on him; his shining black hair shaping his high cheek bones and hard jawline made him look damn fine.

"Aw, come on, Hon." Nate pleaded, rubbing his hand along her stomach behind his head. "Make a guess."

"With our luck," Grace postulated, "It'll be twins."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Look, you've got to stop worrying about money. We'll figure it out."

"Our entire safety net went into the house, Nate -"

"You can't keep stressing yourself out about this. It's not good for you or the baby."

"I still don't have a job. What good is a law degree if I can't even use it -"

"You've got some interviews coming up."

"No one is going to hire a pregnant woman. As soon as I get comfortable there, I'm going to have to go on maternity leave."

"They can't turn you away for that. Fairly certain there are laws against it, but you're the one with the fancy degree."

"They won't explicitly say 'No pregnant ladies allowed'."

"So you won't get the job, then. I heard Able down the road saying that Red Rocket into Concord is looking for a new mechanic. I can go talk to them Monday morning."

"You haven't worked in a shop in years. Not since before Anchorage."

"Stop being so pessimistic, Wilhelmina." Nate used her first name. He only ever used her first name when he was annoyed with her. Grace sighed. She knew he was right.

"I'm just scared." She admitted.

"We both are." Nate admitted. "But if we keep worrying about the future, we can't enjoy right now; the sun shining on your skin, the cool breeze and the birds down by the creek. Just close your eyes and enjoy the sun. Forget about the rest for a bit."

Grace's eyes slowly drooped shut as she took in the feel of the sun beating down on her. The comfortable pressure of Nate's head on her stomach. She smiled contentedly as her hand reached out to pet Nate's soft hair again. Instead of the soft strands, Grace's palm came to rest on bare skin. It had an unusual feel. Leathery and pockmarked with a slight dampness that reminded Grace of used oil.

"Nate?" She whispered, her hand exploring more of the strange skin.

"Grace!" A man's voice urgently called out to her. The voice was distant but distinct and definitely not Nate. "Grace, open your eyes." The man ordered. A slight rustling sound came from somewhere as the pressure of Nate's head left Grace's stomach.

"Where are you going?" She asked, eyes still closed as she reached out for Nate.

"Dammit, not again." The man's voice swore, slightly closer this time. Grace could feel someone's hands - Nate's hands? - pulling and caressing her ribs. Something cool ran across her side. It stung like hell but was oddly comforting.

"Nate?" Grace asked again, taking hold of the hands that were touching her.

"Grace. Open your eyes. That's an order." The distant man's voice demanded. The hand Grace had taken hold of brushed her fingers away. She ignored him. No one ordered her to do anything. Her father had tried, and failed, on many occasions resulting in a rebellious teenager. Even Nate knew better expressly order her around lest he wanted to sleep on the couch for a weekend. Her head lolled to the side in lazy defiance of the man.

But it was a sudden pin prick near her ribcage that forced Grace to open her eyes. With a surprised and extremely painful gasp, Grace's eyes shot open. Turning her head to see what had stung her, reality finally set back in. The body of the ghoul that had torn a chunk out of her already wounded side lay a few feet away from her; tossed like a rag doll by the formerly armor clad man attempting the administer first aid on her. Danse was out of his power armor; it sat staring at her, watching over Danse's shoulder. Dogmeat sat across from him, howling mournfully as Danse worked a stimpak into Grace's side.

"Lay still." Danse ordered again, pinning Grace's chest to the ground with his free hand. An anguishing burning sensation ran through Grace's side as the medicine from the stimpak began to course through her system. Coupled with the nerves that were screaming for their severed halves that had been torn from her side, Grace couldn't help but yell in pain. Her body was trying to shut itself down, running on instinct that the beating her side had taken was finally too much. But Danse kept demanding that she stay awake. "Keep your eyes open." He practically yelled at her as he tried to administer first aid.

 _'This is not ideal.'_ He thought to himself, keeping his mind steeled on the task at hand. As soon as he got Grace triaged and bandaged up, then he he could worry about the fact he was a good hour's walk back to Oberland Station or the fact that he had no clue how to get to this '81'. And from what grace had told him, they were only about halfway through the trek to get to the settlement. At least two hours away from a real doctor.

"Grace." Danse slapped her cheek hard enough to keep her focus. "Stay focused on staying awake."

Dogmeat had been standing at Grace's unharmed side, whimpering as though he himself had been injured. Whenever she would scream and cry out in pain, Dogmeat would copy her cries before gently licking her hand; comforting his human in the only way he knew how.

"I can't…" Grace muttered after a particularly long scream. Danse had managed to clean to wound and was beginning to wet material to pack it when the hackles on Dogmeat's shoulders stood on edge. A low growl rumbled through the dog as he looked off behind Danse. Something was coming closer.

"If it's another damned ghoul…" Danse cursed to himself.

The dog took off into the woods behind Danse, barking loudly at whatever or whoever was coming up on them. It was odd, though. His barks weren't protective or angry, but actually sounded like he was greeting someone he knew.

"Dogmeat!" A man's voice jovially called out. "What'chya doing out here, Bud?"

Dogmeat answered with a singular bark.

"Where's the boss?" The man asked, chuckling. "You didn't finally give up on her, did'ya?" Danse thought he heard Dogmeat bark in response again, but it was masked by Grace.

"Deacon!" Grace whimpered, apparently overhearing the man and Dogmeat's conversation. There was a strange need in her voice. Like a scared child calling out for their parent; a need for reassurance that someone trusted was nearby.

"Boss?" The man supposedly named Deacon responded. "Move, Dogmeat." He yelled, either to get the dog out of the way or commanding him to bring him to Grace. Danse could hear the rustling of dead leaves as Deacon moved through the brush to get to Grace. "Jesus. What the hell happened?" Deacon asked, standing right behind Danse.

"Ghouls." Was all Danse replied with as he set to work packing Grace's wound. He didn't look up to acknowledge whomever this new person was. Grace held out her hand to Deacon, silently begging him to hold her close. He wasn't even supposed to be here. They had agreed that they would meet up in Goodneighbor after she took down that Courser. He should have been there by now. But damned if she wasn't relieved to see him, even if he was blurry behind the tears in her eyes. Grace had made quite a few friends during her stay in the Commonwealth - quite a few enemies too - but there were few she trusted as implicitly as she did Deacon. They knew each other's secrets, knew what made each other tick deep down. He had told her his real story, laced with a few blemishes here and there, this much Grace knew. She knew about his past, about Barbara, and he knew everything about her.

"I got you, Boss." He didn't take hold of her hand. Instead, he sat down behind her, gently lifting her head into his lap. Deacon stroked his hand through her half-shaved hair. You didn't get as close as he and Grace were without figuring out what comforted them somewhat. "What did you get yourself into this time? It'll be the death of the Death Bunnies if you keep this up." Deacon stated. It was some inside joke that Danse had no clue what the hell that meant. But it made Grace chuckle.

"Be careful." Danse growled at the stranger, his attention still focused on dressing the wound.

"No more secret handshake." Grace sighed, staring up into Deacon's shaded eyes. As far as Grace knew, she was the only one to see him without those stupid sunglasses. She was the only one that knew he was naturally a ginger, if Deacon's eyebrows were anything to go off of.

"It's not a secret if you talk about it in front of Chuckles here."

"Don't call me 'Chuckles'." Danse partially growled.

"Would you prefer 'Brotherhood'?" Deacon hissed back, matching Danse's tone perfectly. That got Danse's attention. The paladin's hand faltered slightly as he began setting bandages. No one in the Commonwealth was supposed to know the Brotherhood was here. Not yet, at least. The few civilians Team Gladius had run into in their time here had no clue who or what the Brotherhood was. And from the way Deacon spat the name, he obviously did not think very highly of them. Danse resisted his urge to ask Deacon how he knew he was Brotherhood. The small voice in the back of his head told him doing so would just egg Deacon on.

"If we fashion a gurney, we should be able to move grace in a couple hours."

"Where are you headed?" Deacon smirked at the soldier knowing full well that Danse was evading the jab.

"A settlement. Grace called it '81'."

"Gotcha." Deacon nodded in response, his hand still running through Grace's dirty hair. He chatted at Grace while Danse continued to work, half the things he said made almost no sense to the soldier. He rambled on for a solid two minutes about someone called Professor Goodfeels. Danse couldn't tell if Deacon was watching him work or not, those stupid glasses clouded his view of Deacon's eyes. His sunglasses set off a warning in Danse's mind. Deacon was hiding something and it put Danse on edge.

Deacon watched Danse's movements with excruciating detail as the man worked on Grace's side. From the way Danse cleaned his hands between packing Grace's wounds to the way he tied off her bandages, Deacon watched and examined the stranger. Danse worked slowly, but deliberately. He made each moment count as he field dressed Grace's wounds. It wasn't until Danse pulled out the silver cylinder with the telltale purple stripe that Deacon had a problem.

"You're not giving her that." Deacon reached out to grab Danse's arm. He would have quite a few words - more so than usual - if Danse unwittingly reignited that addiction.

"It's Med-x." Danse replied as if Deacon had no clue what he was talking about. Danse tried to shrug Deacon's hand away, but it remained steadfast.

"I know what it is, Chuckles. Grace can't have it. She's allergic." Any trace of sarcasm and humor gone from his voice. Grace bit her tongue, choosing to stay silent at this point. Deacon knew her little secret. He'd been the one to help her stay clean after she sobered up.

"My team has been injecting her with it for the last two days, and she has shown no signs -"

"Then you're lucky she didn't die on you. But I'm telling you, giving her that shit will kill her… Wait. What do you mean you've been giving her med-x for two days?" Deacon asked, completely unaware of the previous side injury.

Danse stared at the med-x for a brief moment. Setting the needle back into his first aid kit, Danse told Deacon about how she had stumbled into the police station after setting off a frag mine.

"You're a moron." Deacon sighed, his forehead coming to rest against Grace's head. She was warm and covered in a thin layer of sweat. "I can't lose you too, Boss." He whispered into Grace's hair. Danse wasn't supposed to hear that exchange. He did, and it felt awkward. It was obvious that the two were close, but hearing that cemented the fact in the soldier's mind. Maybe it was a romantic relationship, maybe it wasn't, but it was obvious they were a pair. They loved each other in some way; whether that was was platonic or erotic or somewhere in between, Danse didn't know. But they were a set. Taking care of one meant dealing with the other. Even if the Other was insufferable. And Danse would place good money that Deacon wasn't quite all there. No one in their right mind could ramble on about someone named Professor Goodfeels for as long as Deacon did.

"Right. A gurney." Deacon sat upright suddenly, looking around for anything they could use to fashion a stretcher for Grace. "Dogmeat, you keep watch." Deacon said to the dog as he carefully lifted Grace's head from his lap and stood up.

Dogmeat yipped at Deacon, laying down next to Grace and licking some of the sweat and tears from her cheeks.


	6. Safe Haven

It had been an awkwardly strained silence as the two men worked to rig up a makeshift stretcher and move Grace out to 81. Grace had fallen asleep after a few minutes back on the road. The distress her body was in and the sudden lack of adrenaline in her system knocked her right out. Deacon made sure to keep one eye on her chest, watching it slowly rise and fall, to make sure she kept breathing.

Danse kept quiet because he honestly didn't want to have to listen to Deacon ramble. Deacon kept quiet because he honestly didn't like the man in the power armor. He had spent some time in DC. Before the newest Maxson took over, the Brotherhood East Coast wasn't much different than the Minutemen, to be honest. But, Jesus, had that Arthur kid changed things.

There were times Deacon wondered if the Minutemen would ever turn into the new Brotherhood. Especially now that they were under Grace's direction. Some of the Minutemen practically deified her; Protector of the weak, Defender of the poor, Savior of the Commonwealth. One charismatic leader could change the way any organization ran. And not always for the better. For a while she had looked the part, running around the 'Wealth, retaking the Castle, in a suit of power armor like some damn paladin. Deacon would freely admit that she was an impressive sight in that armor. Covered in Raider blood and Mirelurk scat, organizing her people and commanding them where to go, what areas to patrol, and which settlements were at the largest risk. Grace fit the part of General perfectly.

At least, until she was officially named General by Garvey.

The moment she became The General, Grace hawked the power armor piece by piece to caravans and traders. She hated the idea of building something that could become a new army. Hated the idea that she looked the part. She had told Deacon that the military-industrial complex was what ultimately brought the world crashing down.

"It would have never happened if the world had just learned to keep their attack dogs in check." Grace had muttered to him one night after she had sold the last piece of her power armor.

She took a step back. Left the Minutemen to loosely organize themselves in cells. More like a large police force than a military installation. If she heard news of any one cell getting to be too powerful, too forceful in their peace-keeping, Grace would personally tear the group apart.

Not even a three weeks ago, Grace had heard a rumor that one of the cells up near the Abernathy's had started asking for protection fees to guard caravans. Her own people were extorting the traders she had worked so hard to secure after she had promised the Minutemen had changed. The captain of the cell was stupid enough to fight back when Grace showed up and kicked him out of the Minutemen. He was laying dead in a ditch somewhere. Her people weren't military, but they sure as hell weren't going to become a mafia either.

Grace was far too anti-military to build The Minutemen into anything close to the Brotherhood. But someday, she would step down or die - hell, today could be that day. Fucking ferals - and whoever took over could have ambitions for something greater. Probably not better, but definitely greater.

"There'll be a dirt road coming up soon." Deacon stated, breaking the awkward silence. "We'll want to take that. Not too far now, Boss."

Danse couldn't help it. He had to ask. "Why do you call Grace 'Boss'? The other Minutemen seem content to call her 'General'.

Deacon laughed. He would have preferred to laugh in Danse's face, but the paladin's back would have to make due for now.

"I'm not with the Minutemen." Deacon answered honestly, if only for a moment. "Just a drifter she picked up and gave a chance."

"Then why are you dressed like a Minuteman?"

"There's no law saying only Minutemen can wear tan shirts and awesome hats." Deacon scoffed. "I run security for some of the settlements when Minutemen are scarce in an area."

"I was under the impression that Oberland Station is a main stop for trade routes. It should have a heavy Minutemen presence."

"It does."

"Then why-"

"I go where the Boss wants me. I don't ask why."

Another awkward silence. This time it was almost unbearable. Danse knew there was something Deacon wasn't telling him, and Deacon could feel the paladin's apprehension.

"If you must know," Deacon said with a sigh, "Grace heard rumors there were super mutants scouting out the area for a raid. I was sent in to check on it. Run some recon."

"You're a forward scout, then."

"Forward scout, third baseman in the Diamond City baseball league, Shakespeare enthusiast. Aren't many things I'm not." Deacon laughed. "I make a mean Dirty Wastelander, too."

Danse said nothing. He honestly had no clue if Deacon was telling the truth or not. As they moved along the dirt road, a small bunch of ramshackle shacks came into view.

"81?" Danse asked, slightly disappointed by the sight. He was expecting a sprawling city of a settlement. Not four junk shacks haphazardly thrown together.

"Kind of." Deacon replied. "We want to go in there; that cave."

Danse hadn't even noticed a break in the rock bed before Deacon pointed it out. Moving slowly inside, the pair came upon a large cavern. One side of which was sealed off by a vault door. The paladin had not been expecting that.

"Who goes there?" A voice came over a comm on the door controls.

"Open the door, Edwards." Deacon demanded. "And tell Forsythe to be on standby."

"Deacon? Oh, no." Edwards argued. "No. You're not allowed in here unless you're under Grace's supervision. Overseer's orders."

"Grace is a little indisposed right now." Deacon retorted. "Hence the need for the good doctor."

"Indisposed?"

"Bitten by a feral. Now open the door and tell Forsythe to prep the clinic." Deacon spat, not really in the mood for playful banter with the security officer.

"Shit." Edwards replied. The vault door opened slowly. The annoying screech of metal on metal grated on Danse's ears.

Danse had never seen the inside of a vault before. There was a slightly clinical feel inside of the entrance. Sterile. Clean even beyond Brotherhood standards and everything seemed so… new. The vault was over two hundred years old, but here it stood, pristine as the day it had been finished. It was almost awe-inspiring to see no trace of rust anywhere.

Danse wasn't a fool, he knew of the experiments that had transpired behind vault doors, but this place was just impressive. He wondered if they had to boil their water before using it or did they have a filtration system that was still functioning? How did they produce food; was there a hydroponics lab? The generators had to run on nuclear power, but even after all this time they were still going without a hitch? There had to be some flaw this place was hiding. Vault-tec wouldn't have just handed over a vault with no design flaw.

"What the hell happened?" A man in a helmet and padded uniform asked as Danse and Deacon pulled Grace into the vault.

"Move, Edwards." Deacon growled from behind Danse.

"Right. Sorry. Forsythe is waiting for you..." Edwards moved out of they way. A couple of other security officers rushed to the stretcher, carefully grabbing on to the sides, and helping Danse and Deacon move her further into the vault. The elevator ride down into the common areas was rather tight with Grace, the stretcher, Deacon, Danse in a suit of power armor, two of the security officers, and a dog but none of them complained. And at least Dogmeat could stand comfortably under the stretcher

Danse felt he was slightly in a maze as the security officers took point, guiding him through the vault to their clinic. As they passed, vault dwellers stopped what they were doing to see the man in the power armor and Grace on the stretcher.

"Is that Grace?" He heard them whisper.

"Good god, what happened to her?"

"Don't let Austin know how bad she's hurt."

"Erin, too."

"She looks so... Vulnerable."

"After all she's been through..."

A dark haired woman stood outside a door at the bottom of yet another flight of stairs.

"Come in. Come in." She ordered, guiding the security team into what was undoubtably the clinic. "The doctor is prepping surgery. Lay her down on here." She wheeled a gurney toward them.

"Thanks, Rachel." One of the security officers said as he wheeled Grace in a back room with a large operating window.

Danse and Deacon stood in the main area of the clinic, staring through the window as the two security guards began removing Grace's hodgepodge armor.

"What happened?" Rachel asked, washing her hands in a sink.

"Which time?" Deacon asked, side-eyeing Danse behind his sunglasses.

"I'm sorry?" Rachel turned to face the two men. Danse removed his helmet to speak with her.

"She was hit with shrapnel from a frag mine three days ago. My... group field dressed it as best we could until it was okay for her to travel. We had planned to come here to see your doctor. But there was a pack of feral ghouls that attacked. One downed Grace and tore open the wound."

"Jacob," Rachel spoke into a comm, "we will need to run tests for infection from shrapnel and ghoul saliva."

Deacon remain quiet, stepping forward to watch Doctor Forsythe begin examining Grace's wounds.

"It may be a while." Rachel quietly stated, her hand gently squeezing Deacon's shoulder. "Why don't you go down to the cafeteria? I can call you when-"

"I'll wait." Deacon replied. Rachel nodded solemnly.

"Do you want me to get you anything?"

"Nah. I'm alright. Well…" Deacon shrugged, acknowledging the situation.

Rachel turned away from Deacon and walked towards Danse.

"My name is Rachel." She stated, holding out her hand to the paladin.

"Danse." He returned the handshake.

"You can wait in here with Deacon, if you'd like. Or you can wait in the cafeteria or Grace's room. It would be more comfortable there."

"Grace has a room here?" Danse asked.

"Yes. The Overseer gave her her own room after she saved one of our residents." Rachel said, escorting Danse from the clinic to the upper level of the vault. Most of the vault dwellers went about their business as usual. If they didn't know about Grace being on Forsythe's operating table, rumor would get around to them sooner or later. Others, more nosey than most, stared at Danse as he and Rachel passed by. They whispered behind their hands about who this man could be, how did he know Grace.

"How so?" Danse tucked his helmet tightly under his arm, trying to appear unthreatening to the vault residents.

"Well, Vault-tec had been running experiments on mole rats before the war. They created some pretty awful viruses. One of our children, Austin, managed to find the labs and got bit by one of the descendant mole rats. The infection spread pretty rapidly from his leg where he was bit. It was terrible. None of our medicine took, We had amputated his leg in an attempt to stop the spreading. It slowed it some, but Austin... It turned out that Vault-tec had also been working on antidotes. So Grace broke in to the ruined part of the vault, and found it. She saved Austin's life when there was nothing in it for her. No one asked her to risk her life for him, but she did it because it was the right thing to do. Not many outsiders would do that. Not many of us here in the vault would have done it, either. So, as a show of gratitude, the Overseer gave Grace a room in the vault. Show her that she would always be welcome here."

"That was rather selfless of Grace."

"Don't get me wrong, we know she's not a saint." Rachel misinterpreted Danse's tone of voice. "Living out in the Commonwealth, you have to do what you can to survive. But in here, when she's in the vault, she has a safe place that would never ask her to do anything... Untoward. This is it." Rachel stopped in front of a side room just off the main atrium. It was a rather large room, holding a double bed, desk and chair, a row of lockers, and a strange display case full of bobble heads. "You can wait here, or visit Maria downstairs in the cafeteria. She would gladly feed you. We'll let you know when Grace is in post-op."

Rachel turned to leave the room, but stopped halfway out the door. "Word of advice?" She said, turning slightly to face him. "Leave the power armor in here. It makes people nervous."

Rachel left Danse alone in Grace's room. He got the impression she thought he knew Grace better than having only barely just met the woman. Danse stood awkwardly in the room, not quite sure what he was supposed to do now.

"Grace!" A young boy called out from the hallway. "When did you get here-"

Danse turned around to see a boy, maybe 10 years old, standing in the doorway. He had vibrant ginger hair, and about as many freckles as Grace did. His left leg was missing below the knee and was being held aloft by a pair of crutches. The boy's face fell from pure excitement to confusion when he saw Danse standing in Grace's room.

"Who're you?" Austin asked, half accusing the man for being somewhere he didn't belong.

"You must be Austin." Danse replied, hitting the release on his power armor and pushing himself out of the back. He felt slightly exposed and vulnerable being in a strange place without his metal exoskeleton protecting him. But Danse had the feeling he was going to be stuck here for a while, and if it made the civilians feel less intimidated by him, he would have to deal without having his power armor.

"Who are you?" Austin repeated himself.

"My name is Danse-"

"Your name is Danse?" Austin's nose scrunched in either disgust or confusion, Danse couldn't quite tell. "Why would your parents name you Danse?"

"My first name is Saul." Danse offered. "I prefer to be called by my surname."

"I would too." Austin whispered just a little bit too loud. "Did Grace bring you here?"

"Yes. She's injured and needed the doctor-"

"Grace is hurt!?" Austin tried to wheel about in his crutches, but he was still a little wobbly on them. Danse caught the boy around the shoulders and set him upright.

"Your doctor is treating her now." Danse stated. "She will be fine." He added in an attempt to reassure the boy. The redhead's nose scrunched again.

"You travel with Grace? That's so cool." Austin asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"No."

"Then why are you here with her?"

"We struck a deal. I would help her get here, she would help me trade with your outpost."

"You're a trader? You must make a lot of caps to afford to walk around in that thing." Austin nodded at the empty power armor. "Must be dangerous too... Have you ever fought a deathclaw?"

"There are not many deathclaws where I'm from." Danse admitted. "There are a plethora of super mutants in the Capital, however."

"Grace killed a deathclaw." Austin replied, completely unfazed by super mutants. "With nothing but a pistol and three bullets."

"I heard she's killed at least three." A girl about the same age as Austin stated, walking into the room. She was holding onto a gray stripped cat like a rag doll, but the cat, though flicking its tail, did not seem to mind. "My mom said she heard some traders say that she killed a deathclaw in the old Salem ruins. And one that stumbled into a Minutemem settlement."

"I wish I could explore the Commonwealth." Austin sighed. "Someday, when I'm older, I'm going to go explore. I'm gonna go all the way out to California."

"Your gran will never let you do that."

"I said when I'm older, Erin." The two children began to bicker at one another about the merits of how old is old enough to explore the wastes. Danse said nothing, watching them talk excitedly. He would be the first to admit that he had no clue how to handle children. The only "child" Danse had ever really known was Arthur, and even then, he hadn't actually met Maxson until a couple months before Arthur was named Elder.

"Will you two quit arguing. I can hear you all the way downstairs." A woman partially covered in grease stepped in and pulled Erin out of the room.

"Sorry, Mom." Erin apologized.

"Go play somewhere else and leave this poor man alone." Erin and Austin scuttled out of the room. "Sorry about that, mister..."

"Danse."

"Alexis." She held out her hand to him. "Heard about Grace. Are you two... Close?"

"We met three days ago." Danse replied, shaking Alexis' hand. "She informed me that there was a decent trading post here."

"If there's trading that needs done, I'm your gal." Alexis stated. "I run the trading depot. What is that you're looking for?"

* * *

"Unfortunately," Alexis stated, headfirst in a crate as Danse rummaged through her stock, "I don't have much in the way of transmitters."

"I worked salvaged in the Capital before - …coming here." Danse caught himself before telling the vault dweller about the Brotherhood. Alexis was rather disarming, this mousey woman covered in grease. "I am certain I will be able to rig something together." He pulled out a coil of copper wiring that had been scavenged from old light bulbs and threw it in a duffle bag Alexis had given him.

"You said you're from a settlement north of the river, right?" Alexis asked, her top half buried in a bin as she looked for an old circuit board.

"Yes."

"There's a caravan coming in in the next couple'a days that'll be headed back Oberland way. I'm sure they'd take you on for a couple hours."

"Do you partake in a lot of trade with the Minutemen?"

"It's not one of Grace's caravans, if that's what you're asking." Alexis admitted. "81 trades mainly with Bunker Hill and Diamond City. Minutemen may have a pretty decent size of settlements under their protection, but Grace is just getting started in the caravan business. She's gonna be playing catch-up for a long time to get all the best routes." Alexis finally popped up from the bin, an intact circuit board in hand. "Heard rumor that Bunker Hill is trying to buy out some of Grace's settlements from under her. But they run the risk of pissing off Goodneighbor doing so."

"Oh?" Danse merely grunted in reply, only half listening to Alexis as she gossiped.

"See, Grace is a close friend of Mayor Hancock. He may be an anarchist, but nothing speaks to him more than loyalty. You double cross Grace, you double cross Hancock, and that could land you in a world of hurting next time your caravans get ambushed by raiders or super mutants. Hancock's boys run some of the best security in the Ruins - protecting Drifters and caravans alike. Piss him off and his Neighborhood Watch might not be around when you need them."

"An anarchist mayor?" Danse questioned.

"Never said the world had to make sense." Alexis replied.

"Most farms north of the river are under Minuteman protection," Alexis continued after a minute, "and while Grace would tell you she doesn't own them, they've sworn loyalty to her and her alone. If she were the greedy type, Grace could use that to starve out the competition. But she'd never do that. She said she supports, oh what's it called… Fair trade! Says no one trading post should control the market. 'Monopolies can cripple as well as any other threat', she said to me once… It's interesting to listen to her talk about these things. About her ideas and how we've been given a chance to do better than before the war. Grace has told me some things about life before the bombs. Not the idyllic stuff like green grass and picket fences, but what it was really like; the politics, civil unrest, living in fear of 'could today be the day the bombs finally fall?' mixed with 'don't forget to buy carrots at the store'. It's rather inspiring, really. Hell, half the vault wants to hold a new election to see if we can vote her in as Overseer."

"Grace doesn't strike me as a politician." Danse mused.

"Oh, she's not. The woman is a natural leader, but she'd rather be boots on the ground than in the war room. She actually hates the fact the she's The General. I guess her dad was some big shot general or something before the war. She doesn't talk much about him, but I get the feeling she didn't like the man and all the things he did. Not a big fan of the military, she is."

"Wasn't her husband a soldier?" Danse pointed out.

"In the army, yes. 'The cruelest irony', she called it." Alexis replied. "Hate the sin, love the sinner, I guess."

Danse picked up the duffle bag of parts, bringing it toward the counter. "Does Grace come here often?" He asked, dropping the heavy bag in front of Alexis.

"Often enough." She replied, rummaging through the bag and pricing everything out in her head. "She stops by whenever she's passing through. Mostly to check in on Austin." Alexis beamed. "She dotes on him like he was her own son…" Alexis' face fell the moment she mentioned Grace having a son."I can't even imagine what it's like to loose her boy like that."

"I heard what Grace did for Austin." Danse replied, preferring to gloss over the subject of Grace's son. _'Shaun was his name.'_ Danse thought to himself.

"Austin's a good kid. A little hyper sometimes; wasn't built for life in a vault. But none of us have the heart to tell him he's probably never going to be able to leave now. Not after the infection… Grace tried to rig together a prosthetic for him, but Austin has some kind of metal allergy or something. He couldn't wear it."

"I know someone who lost both legs in a super mutant attack. She wears a suit of power armor to compensate. She is honestly one of the most nimble women I have ever met."

"Must be a lot of power armor frames laying around in the Capital." Alexis giggled. "Maybe if I ever get my hands on one, I'll have Calvin make a leg for Austin."


	7. Healing Hand

Rachel watched Deacon stand in front of the operating room window for what felt like hours to her. She could only guess at what it was like for him. Deacon had been with Grace when she first showed up at 81. Hell, it seamed that Deacon was with her whenever she would roll into the vault. Most people here assumed they were a pair; he never asked to sleep in a separate room from Grace's if that was any sort of a clue.

"Here." Rachel handed Deacon a coffee cup. "It's just some tarberry tea. If I had anything stronger…"

"I don't drink." Deacon replied, eyes forward watching Forsythe work on Grace's side. "Thanks." He stated as an afterthought as he held the cup in his hands. Deacon didn't take a sip. Just stared into the operating room from behind his sunglasses. There was a look to him that Rachel couldn't quite place. He was always so charming and chatty when talking to the residents here. Although, there was the incident with Old Rusty that had him on a security watch list. But, best not to dwell on how he managed to get the old bot into slacks and suspenders, a bowler hat, and a fake mustache and remember the look on Austin's face when the boy saw the robot. It had been right after the accident with the mole rats and there was nothing anyone could do to cheer the boy up. Mourning the loss of his leg would need time. Priscilla and Grace stuck around with him for a long while, tending to his every need, but even Grace's wild tales on life on the outside couldn't cheer him up. Then out of nowhere, Rusty comes barging into the clinic ready to work on some thing or another, looking like some cartoon out of one of Austin's old comic books. Rachel had never heard Austin laugh so hard, let alone the smile it put on Priscilla's face. And she was as hard to please as a deathclaw. Deacon stood in the shadows, watching Austin's reaction, but everyone knew it was his doing.

He was always so hard to read, even when joking around with the vault dwellers, there was always something just beneath the surface with Deacon. Like a layer of lies built to protect him from the world. But there was something simple in the way he looked when he and Grace were together. There were no lies between them; an understanding that broke down walls between them. Standing there, watching him watch the doctor work, Rachel could see Deacon building those walls up again brick by brick.

"She'll be alright." She reassured him, lightly caressing her hand against his shoulder. "Doc'll patch her up in no time and you two will be off doing… whatever the hell it is you two do."

"Mhmm." Deacon nodded, half paying attention to her. He stood there for hours, watching. Waiting. He said nothing more to Rachel, letting his tea go cold and untouched. Dogmeat sat at his side, looking plaintively up at him. A hand rested on the dog's head, gently scratching behind his ear. He heard Danse come inside the clinic, but ignored the soldier. Instead, the dog's focus was solely on Deacon. Big brown eyes staring up at the human, willing Deacon to make things better. Begging him to let Grace be alright.

Danse walked cautiously into the clinic, not wanting to disturb the uneasy calm that emanated from Deacon. He may have found the man to be annoying and a bore, but it would have been plain rude to disrupt Deacon. Plus, Deacon hadn't moved in the two hours since they brought Grace here. Danse got the feeling there was a storm raging beneath Deacon's calm exterior and to disturb him would set off a bomb inside the vault.

"Any news?" He asked quietly, walking towards Rachel's desk.

"Not yet. Doc'll do right by her, though." Rachel nodded, self-assuredly.

"And, him?" Danse gestured toward Deacon.

"Uhh…" Rachel was less sure about Deacon's state of mind. Danse nodded.

"Rachel," Forsythe called over the comms - startling all three inhabitants in the clinic, "get the door."

Rachel obliged, opening the operating room door and wheeling Grace out to the main clinic.

"Give me a hand?" Rachel asked Deacon as she rolled the gurney towards one of the recovery beds. "I need help moving her off the gurney. On three." Rachel said as Deacon grabbed the bottom corners of the sheet beneath Grace. "One, two, three, lift."

"She should be fine." Forsythe stated, drying his hands and walking out of the operating room. "I would like to keep her here for a couple days for observation, but I'd say you two can get back to saving the Commonwealth in no time."

"Thanks, Doc." Deacon shook the doctor's hand. Forsythe left the pair for another room off of the main clinic to wash up. The wave of relief that flooded Deacon was palpable. Danse simply watched the man who had stood still as a post for hours, begin fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on. Deacon grabbed a rag and some water and cleaned Grace up, brushed her hair out of her face, squished the unconscious woman's lips into a fish mouth, sat down on a chair next to the bed, stood, paced, sat back down again, tried to play a couple of tongue depressors like spoons, twiddled his thumbs, all in the span of five minutes. His nervous energy even started transferring over to Dogmeat, who now hid under Grace's hospital bed, whining for some unknown reason.

"Dear lord, Deacon. If you don't stop fidgeting, I'm going to make you leave." Rachel scolded from behind her desk. Deacon stopped moving, propping his feet up next to Grace's body and hunkering down into his seat. Crossing his arms against his chest, he settled into himself, watching Grace slowly breathe languidly beside him. She stirred faintly and Danse could have sworn he heard Deacon let out a long held breath.

"So," He said, turning his bespectacled sights on Danse. "Chuckles."

"Do not call me 'Chuckles'."

"So, Chuckles, I gotta ask myself, 'What's a man like you doing so far from home'?"

"It's not of import."

"It is to me." Deacon sighed. "Because if you and your yahoos weren't in Cambridge riling up those ghouls, we wouldn't be sitting here, now would we?"

"I don't think I appreciate your tone."

"Don't rightly care what you think, Chuckles. Not many frag mines in Cambridge until recently. Least, not 'till your boys showed up and started waking up hordes."

"If you are implying -"

"See, Grace helped clear out a raider gang that was living on the roofs couple of months ago, and, the way she told it, the horde was originally localized in the police station. Now, any idiot with a gun can clean out a building once or twice, but it takes a long game to stave off a horde. A long game that includes strategically placed frag mines on an outer perimeter. Am I right?"

"You're not wrong." Danse grumbled.

"That's what I thought." Deacon stared are Danse from behind his sun glasses, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Um…" Rachel interrupted the sudden tension in the room. She stood awkwardly for a moment, shifting attention between the two men. Standing behind Danse, she could see his shoulders visibly tense as the two of them had a staring contest. Whoever blinked first was the one in the wrong, the one that need apologize. Deacon was at a decided advantage behind those sunglasses.

"I'm going to the cafeteria… Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"Maybe our friend here should join you." Deacon suggested, pulling a cigarette out of his front pocket.

"Don't you dare light that up in here." Rachel scolded Deacon just as he flipped his lighter open. "It'll put you in an early grave."

"If you haven't noticed, not many people make it to an old age out _there_. Point and case." Deacon shrugged at Grace.

"Well, that may be true out there. But in here, it's strictly a smoke free zone." Rachel pointed a finger at Deacon to reinforce her point. Deacon begrudgingly stuffed the cigarette and lighter back in his shirt pocket. All three of the people in the room knew that as soon as Rachel left he would have the damned thing between his lips and aflame.

"Danse, why don't you come with me." Rachel offered, trying to lead the large soldier out of the room. "I'll get you some tea."

"Run along, Chuckles." Deacon smirked from behind his glasses. Danse did not like that man, but there was nothing Danse could do in that moment. Grace was stable, Deacon had his eye on her; all he had to do was wait for that caravan to show up so he could head back to his team. Danse hated having to follow behind Rachel in that moment, but it would be best for him to leave the room. He knew that. Deep down, he knew that. But it didn't make wanting to punch that smug look of Deacon's face any less palatable.

Danse tried to ignore some of the stares from the vault residents as he passed through trailing behind Rachel. But there were some that were just hard to walk past. They were curious about this newcomer; a thing to be ogled at while just passing through their world. He kept his head up. Let them wonder and stare at this stranger.

"This is Maria." Rachel offered, ushering Danse into the designated cafeteria. The walls had been painted a shocking shade of pink where a pleasant older woman sat on a stool behind the counter.

"Ah, this must be our guest that came in with Grace and Deacon. Maria Summerset." The older woman held out her hand to Danse. He shook it with a curt nod.

"Danse."

"What can I get you?" Rachel asked, stepping up to the counter.

"I've got some pie left over. Mark's working on a batch of corn fritters from Priscilla's garden, and we've got some radstag venison stakes if you're looking for something a little hardier."

"Any new teas?" Rachel asked.

"Carla brought in some dried thistle that she said makes a good tea. But its mostly just good ol' tarberry."

"I'll try some of that thistle tea. Danse?"

"Tarberry tea, if you don't mind, please."

"This one's got manners." Maria joked, putting a kettle on a stove. It was overwhelming just how clean everything was inside of the vault. It made Danse ever wonder if he would be able to eat anything cooked outside the vault ever again. The Brotherhood was excellent at sterilizing everything in their compounds, but none of their efforts could match the cleanliness in this place. "Not many Outsiders come in here with their please and thank yous. Have a seat, Danse. I'll bring you your tea when it's ready."

"Thank you, Maria."

"Hah. I could get used to having this one around." Maria laughed again.

Danse sat a bench table, silently watching the people living their lives around him. They just moved around the vault, going about their business as if he wasn't there. Maria brought him his tea and left him be, and for awhile, sitting there sipping on the tea and listening to the others trudging through their days, Danse wondered if this was what life was like before the war. He wondered if, 200 years ago, was it normal for someone to sit at a cafe and just watch the people walking by, just enjoying the peace of it. Had this been what life was like for Grace? Danse's mind wandered, snaking its way back to the freckled blonde. It was her eyes that had first caught Danse off guard. Those deep, piercing blue eyes of hers that seemed to look right into him when she first woke up in the police station. From a distance, they were as blue as an ocean, but up close Danse could see small flecks of green that dotted her irises. Her eyes were stunning. And her smile - not the snarky smile when she was mouthing off to Rhys, her real smile, the one she had when she held her husband's dog tags in her hands - that made those eyes of her's light up in ways he had never noticed in another woman before.

The soldier felt mildly useless as he sat there, sipping on tea, watching other people work. He didn't have an exact E.T.A. on that caravan that Alexis mentioned, and waiting here for a couple days was going to drive Danse crazy. Sitting on his hands while there was work to be done had never been particularly easy for Danse. And he had a feeling finding a place in the vault while he waited was going to prove difficult. He needed something to do.

"Boy, you're a big brute of a man, ainchya?" a portly man that was balding slightly sat down in front of him.

"Excuse me?" Danse asked, looking up from his tea.

"Name's Cal. I'm in charge on maintaining this old bucket." The bald man extended his hand across the table. "You must be Danse."

Danse said nothing as he shook Cal's hand.

"Word travels fast 'round here." Cal explained, letting go of Danse's hand and waving his hand behind him in the general direction of the depot. "Alexis says you're chomping at the bit to get on the next caravan headed out of here."

"I have people that are waiting for me to return, yes."

"Mhm. That's what 'Lexis said. But next caravan isn't scheduled for the next 2 days at least."

Danse could sense there was something that the older man was skirting around, but he let Cal work to it in his own time.

"I've got a proposition for you. See, us vault dwellers, we're not built like you Outsiders. And see, there's a section of the vault what needs rebuilding. Grace cleared out all the mole rats over there and we're fixing to take that part of the vault back. And, as I say, none of us here are built for some of that hard labor. There's caps to be made for someone to be willing to put in a little elbow grease in there. And way I see it, you could use something to do for the next couple'a days."

Danse thought about refusing Cal's offer, but the man was right. He looked around, watching all of the people working through their lives and felt like an outsider. He agreed, nodding his head slightly. Two days of being put to work sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting on his thumbs.

"Alright." Danse agreed.

* * *

Grace woke up a couple hours after Forsythe had finished binding up her side. Deacon was snoring quietly sitting in his chair next to her, his sunglasses laying on the table next to them as he slept. His legs were propped up on the bed. Grace's hand was draped over his ankle, holding onto him like a lifeline. Dogmeat was laying at her feet whimpering and chasing something in a puppy dream.

"Deac?" Grace sighed, squeezing his ankle gently.

"Sleeping." Deacon replied, unmoving.

"Awake." Grace giggled.

"Sleep a little longer then."

"I'm tired of sleeping. Been doing too much of that lately."

"Ghouls and frag mines will do that to a body." Deacon sighed, removing his feet from the bed and sitting upright. It was still an odd sight, seeing him without his sunglasses. But his eyes were a beautiful shade of green. Grace made a point of telling him whenever she saw them. "How you feeling?"

"Like I got blown up in a mine field then chomped on by a monster."

"I meant about the med-x those yahoos were dosing you with?"

"That…" Grace sighed, closing her eyelids. She preferred the darkness to looking into Deacon's eyes. "Rachel may still have some addictol from before with Bobby."

"You think it could get that bad again?"

"Rather not risk it." Grace opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Wasted a lot of time getting high instead of looking for Shaun. Too much time. I'm on the right track now, I can't afford to mess up like that again. We've got the Courser chip, all we need to do is get Sturges or Tinker or someone to decode that damn thing and -"

"Speaking of," Deacon interrupted, "you do know what your Brotherhood friend is here for, right?"

"I do." Grace replied, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. Maybe she should tell him she thought about letting the Brotherhood have some of her intel. Maybe she should tell him she felt they could trust Danse and his squad.

"No, you don't, Boss." Deacon said sternly as if he had read her mind.

"They could have resources we could only imagine, Deac. They could help us in ways we've only dreamed about."

"I've seen what they do to synths, Grace. Right after I joined up with Des, I was smuggling some of our… packages out of the 'Wealth and into D.C.. They had a whole executioners row of synths and presumed synths lined up to be shot. Arms bound, on their knees with sacks over their heads like some dystopian dissidents. The assholes didn't even care who they were killing. They just shoved a laser rifle at the back of the poor bastards' necks and fired. There is a blind hatred there and if it ain't human, it doesn't deserve life to them. I've had enough of that kind of willful ignorance to last me a lifetime. And with half of the Commonwealth afraid of the Institute and synths already… The Brotherhood could do more damage than good, Gracie-poo. And I sure as shit don't want them here in the Commonwealth."


	8. Whistle While He Works

A week had come and gone and that Caravan Danse was depending on was a no-show. A rad storm had blown in early on the morning of the second day making travel out in the wastelands practically impossible, and it had yet to stop. According to one of the vault dwellers, it was one of the worst rad storms she had seen in the Commonwealth.

"And we get some nasty ones." The woman stated, as she helped Danse clear out an old piece of rusted metal. Since Cal's offer, Danse had been working almost non-stop in the ruined section of the vault. He had been helping to shovel out dirt from some of the busted walls and moving them outside, but once the storm hit, he'd been forced to stay inside the vault. Currently, Danse was working to clear out any viable scrap metal from other sections of the vault. Some areas had been so wrecked over the last 200 years worth of mole rats and decay that they were officially cordoned off and left to wither and rot. But not before they were scavenged and picked clean of anything that could remotely be of use to the vault. Alexis had been helping to oversee that portion of the cleanup. Alexis seemed to share no love-loss for the woman currently assigned to Danse. Tina, was her name, was currently working with Danse as they scavenged and cannibalized useless parts of the vault.

"Do rad storms have a tendency to be this bad this far north?" Danse asked, grunting with the strain of lifting the metal while Tina unscrewed the few bolts holding it in place.

"They can be." Tina kept her eyes on her work. "They blow in from the Glowing Sea. Usually, most only last a couple hours, but some are just endless. Never seen one go on for four days like this one, though."

It was mildly irritating to Danse, to still be stranded here, working on the blasted vault while Rhys and Haylen were waiting for him. The security station at the entrance to the vault had a HAM radio and he had tried hailing his team when he found out he would be postponed a little while longer, broadcasting a coded message on emergency frequencies. Whether or not they received the message would be something he would have to discover later. As for now, he kept himself busy working in the ruins. Danse would wake early, begin working before most of the vault had risen and would keep himself busy until the wee hours of the night before retreating to Grace's room to sleep for a few hours. Grace was still being held for observation in the clinic, and Deacon hadn't come demanding Danse find his own space to sleep. Danse quite honestly didn't know where Deacon went. The few times that Danse went down to the clinic to ask after Grace, Deacon hadn't been there. Deacon could have gone to help in the ruined vault as well, Danse supposed. But then again, from what Danse knew of him, Deacon didn't seem like the type to put in the elbow grease and sweat that this particular job demanded. Wherever that man went, he was letting Danse stay in Grace's quarters, so Danse couldn't really complain. Plus, the vault had working showers. With water that didn't need to be boiled and purified before he used them. Tina had explained that the vault not only had two incredibly hardy generators, but also relied on a water purification system that could run for another 200 years before they would need to change the filter.

"Vault-tec may have wanted to kill us," Tina had said, "but at least they made sure we were comfortable before they did it." But, as they worked now, it was all Danse could do to keep his mind on his work and not the team waiting for him on the other side of the storm.

"I'm sure your people are fine." Tina sighed kindly. She had gotten into a habit of almost being able to read Danse's mind while they worked. "They've been through rad storms before, right?"

"Am I not allowed to worry?" Danse asked, as the last of the bolts came loose. He pulled the metal piling from it's place, carrying it to a pile of other pieces of scrap metal. Apparently, this pile was going to be used to close off a hallway that was too far gone for repairs.

"Well, yeah, but, they're Wasterlanders." Tina shrugged, watching Danse carrying the metal sheet with ease. "They're used to this kind of stuff. Ya know, rad storms, raiders, ghouls and shit."

"It amazes me how high of an opinion you have of the Commonwealth." Danse sardonically sighed.

"Don't get me wrong. I'd much rather try my luck out there than in here. Grace even offered me a place in one of her settlements once."

"Why didn't you accept the offer?"

"Well, my brother had gotten into a little trouble. I had to stay behind and help him, ya know?"

"What kind of trouble?" Danse asked politely. "If it's not overstepping any bounds." He offered after a moment of hesitation from Tina, giving her an out if she did not want to talk about it.

"It's nothing. Most people have gotten past it. It's just… Bobby was kind of the reason Austin found this place. He kept his stash over here and Austin is too curious for his own good."

"Stash?" Danse asked, throwing the sheet metal on the pile.

"Chems." Tina said abruptly, as if it were obvious what ' _stash'_ should have meant. "Bobby was an addict. Grace helped him get clean after she picked up his mess, the fucking saint." She spat her words angrily.

"Do you not like Grace?" Danse probed. Tina was facing away from him, and even in the dim working light of the vault, he could see her shoulders were tensed as she spoke about her and her brother's history with Grace. "It sounds as though you ought to be grateful for getting your brother off of whatever filthy habits he had."

"It's not that I have anything against her, it's just - I mean she did offer me a place to go after everything came to light. She told me she could get me to a settlement north of the river where I could get a fresh start, ya know. But, Bobby couldn't leave, and I couldn't leave him. But… whenever something bad happens around here, suddenly there's Grace, in shining fucking vault suit, to save the day. Everyone here practically worships her, and she's just a person. Just one damned person. She's not infallible. She's human just like you and me."

"Why did she offer you a fresh start?" Danse asked. "It's not as though you were the reason your brother was hiding chems over here or that Austin was hurt because of it."

Tina hung her head, exhaling deeply. "Sometimes, I forget that not everyone on the planet knows. I was Bobby's supplier." The tension left her shoulders as she turned to look at Danse. Regret was plain on her face, but there was a hard steel in her eyes that Danse couldn't recognize. Regret, but not remorse. Not shame. It was something else steeling her gaze on Danse. "I had kept him on a pretty tight leash, apparently not tight enough. I've made some mistakes, not just with Bobby, but with other people, and Grace… She's just so self-righteous sometimes. Ya know? So smug about the fact that she saved Austin, got Bobby clean, got Alexis to standup for herself, got this whole damn vault under her thumb; just like with the Minutemen. The Admiral, or whatever the hell it is they call her.

There it was. That twinge in her eye. Danse had seen it a multitude of times with lower-ranking soldiers. Someone shows exceptional aptitude and advances in rank, leaving lesser soldiers behind them. "Jealousy does not suit you." Danse stated aloud. "It is mechanism of the weak and feeble to diminish the good work of others."

"Excuse me?" That got Tina's blood roiling. "You don't know anything about me, asshat. I know I made some bad decisions, but I'm helping to atone for them now, aren't I? I'm cleaning this place up, I'm taking care of Bobby, I ended things with Holt. I'm turning everything around, and I don't need Grace popping up here reminding every one of the shit I did. I'm making my life better. And what's she doing? Running around the Wastes with that moron and her mangey dog 'looking for her kid'. I don't buy that. If she really was looking for Sam or whatever the brat's name was, why has it taken her nearly 2 years just to get a decent lead on who took him? And to top it all off, they guy who supposedly kidnapped the kid was living in Diamond city, right under Grace's nose pretty much this whole time. _And_ he had the kid with him. Grace could have walked past her son hundreds of times, and she never even knew it was him. What kind of mother does that, ya know? What kind of mother doesn't even recognize her own son? A shitty one, that's what - "

"That's enough." Danse barked at the woman as though she were one of his recruits. Tina was about to retaliate, say something snarky to him, but the glare in his eye caught her off guard. There was fire in his eyes, feral and fierce, that told her anything more from her would be met with a swift slap to her face. Tina scoffed at his indignation towards her, walking away towards the exit to the main vault.

"She's not the saint everyone thinks she is." Tina retorted when she was out of Danse's reach. "Just watch. You'll see it someday."

* * *

Forsythe had let Grace out of bed a hell of a lot sooner than Haylen had, albeit only in short bursts and never outside of the clinic proper. But the fact that he let her move at all gave Grace a sense of peace. She was not built for life in a vault. She needed space to move and breath. Space was the reason she and Nate had sunk their nest egg into their home in Sanctuary. It had an extra room for an office for her, a decent sized garage for Nate, and a backyard with a view of the nearby creek to die for. When they bought the home, neither she nor Nate had any intentions of turning her office into a nursery - much to both of their parents and their overly friendly realtor's chagrin. Every home the realtor, Nancy, showed them had a lovely room that would be perfect for an office. "Or a nursery." She would subtly nudge Nate with her elbow and a wink in her high-pitched Boston accent. They would just smile and nod at her.

"Not yet." Grace would politely say, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I have to finish school first."

"Oh, you." Nancy would say, swatting playfully at Grace's shoulder. "You'll figure out your priorities soon enough." The woman would dismiss Grace out of hand and move on to the next room, boasting about the morning sun that would shine through this window or that. Grace had hated that woman. But Nancy's rates were cheap and she knew not to show them any houses outside of her and Nate's price range. Like so many of the people she had known before the bombs fell, she sometimes wondered what happened to Nancy. Did she get caught in the blast wave? Did the radiation get to her? Was she killed in the chaos after the smoke cleared? Was she some ghoul still alive and annoying people with that high-pitched, nasally voice of hers? It was easier to assume she had died, and had done so peacefully. Dead and buried in a lovely grave by people that cared about her; not just left to decompose to nothing more than a skeleton and scraps of cloth buried under ruins and rubble. Everyone she had known had gone the happy way, not the real way. Grace had to shake that thought from her head quite a few times when she first left 111. How many of those skeletons she passed were people she had known? The med-x made the wondering a little more bearable. But since she had stopped using, those smiling skeletons came back to haunt her every now and again.

"Grace?" Forsythe's voice pulled her out of her own head. She realized then she had been staring out the window that looked into the main stairwell. She didn't know how long she had been standing there, lost in a haze of memories and guilt, but her side ached, and she was straining herself to stand upright, even with the use of a cane Alexis had fashioned for her.

"Yes?" She turned to face the older man, smiling sweetly as she tried to mask her momentary lapse out of reality.

"For the pain." He said, walking towards her with a bottle of pills. "They're not nearly as strong as med-x, but they will do the trick. In moderation." Forsythe warned her, pulling his hand and bottle away from her before Grace could grab them. The doc knew about her past indiscretions, no one else in the vault did. She was grateful Forsythe was the old-fashioned type that still kept his doctor-patient confidentiality tightly sealed. Some of the other doctors in the 'Wealth had loose lips. ' _Loose lips sink ships.'_ Forsythe had told her many times. Grace had to chuckle at the throwback to the World War II propaganda slogan, and irony that spurious rumor about Grace could quite literally destroy her and everything that she had created.

"Understood." Grace nodded. "And Deacon has some addictol if I get bad again." Forsythe glanced over at the man snoring soundly on the bed next to Grace's. He had snuck out the first night Grace was in the clinic to find one of the many chem dealers that roamed the outer ruins of Boston. Stash was usually in the area this time of year, dealing to Solomon in Diamond City. Deacon was able to track her down and barter a couple of vials of addictol off of her. Apparently Stash was none too keen to part with the two vials she had, but Deacon could be rather persuasive when the need arose. Deacon was able to get out and back within two days, appearing back at the vault door just as the rad storm was blowing in.

"I do not understand that boy." Forsythe chuckled, shaking his head amusedly.

"Not much to understand, really." Grace looked lovingly over at him. "He's a man of simple wants and needs."

"I never have been able to figure out what the exact… extent of your relationship with Deacon is." Forsythe admitted. "I must admit, much like the rest of the vault, I assumed you and he are 'an item', I believe they call it."

Grace laughed, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you two seem to always be together. You've never had anyone else come with you when you visit us. You two share a room when you stay overnight. Then there's the way you two look at each other. Up until this point, I would have sworn that if you were not married, you two were at least in love."

"Oh, I love Deacon." Grace confirmed, smiling at the sleeping man. She had gotten to know his sleeping sounds; knew which were real and which were being made to simulate sleep so he could listen in to a conversation. Those soft snores from him now were real; his inhale had a sharp wheeze to it that Deacon had never been able to imitate when awake. And she would never admit that if he were awake. "I love him with every ounce of me, and I know he loves me. But we're not together. He's a widower, like me. He understands what I've been through, and he's never once judged me for anything that's happened; my fault or otherwise. And I will never judge him. He's my best friend." Forsythe nodded his head, accepting her words as truth. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but it wasn't his place to determine that. Grace told him what he had asked for and that would be enough. "Do I have clearance to leave the clinic?" Grace asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Do as you please." Forsythe whisked her away with a wave of his hand.

Before she was completely out of the door, Grace turned back towards the doctor. "That man that came here with me. Danse. Do you know if he's still here?"

"My dear, if it doesn't directly concern my patients or clinic, I have no clue as to the goings on in this vault."

"Right." Grace smirked before leaving the clinic completely. Austin had said Danse was waiting on a caravan to take him back to Cambridge. That would have been a few days ago. There was a small twinge of disappointment in her chest that he left and didn't say goodbye. Not that he owed her a goodbye. They were even now by the terms of the deal they had struck. But still. It would have been the decent thing to do. And how much could it have hurt for him to trek down the two flights of stairs to the clinic? It was selfish is what it was, Grace's mind decided as she ascended the stairs just outside of the clinic. The one flight winded her, forcing her to rest against the railing for support as she palmed a pain killer and downed it without water. She stood for a few minutes, catching her breath and focusing on the pain in her side as though she could will it away.

"Are you alright?"

Grace opened her eyes to see Alexis walking towards her, an armful of scrap from the old vault on its way to the depot in hand.

"I'm okay." Grace nodded after a moment.

"Do you need me to get the doctor?" Alexis stooped to unload her arms and move Grace away from the top of the stairs. There was a bench just outside of the classroom that she could use and Alexis was worried Grace would topple backwards down the stairs. She looked too unsteady to be parked where she had been.

"No, I just need a moment." Grace didn't physically protest Alexis' help towards the bench. Her side was stiff and it was difficult her her to bend, but Grace managed to sit down. Alexis sat beside her after guiding Grace to rest.

"Do you need a hand with any of that?" Grace nodded her head towards the salvage Alexis had been carrying.

"Just because you're up doesn't mean you're useful." Alexis retorted.

"Suppose you're right."

"I know I am. Mother's instincts and all."

"Mhm." Grace laughed dubiously.

"It's fine, Grace. Someone will be along soon that I can order around to take it up to the depot."

"Isn't most everyone asleep by now?" Grace looked to the wall clock that hung in the hallway. It was close to 11:30. They finally fixed the damn clocks. For as long as Grace could remember, every clock inside the vault had been stuck at 9:47, which had been rather telling about the feeling inside the vault; stuck in time, at the exact moment the bombs fell and stubbornly refusing to move forward and join the 23rd century. But they were in it now. Grace had forced them to move on and see how useful and resilient the outside world had become. It was still dangerous as hell out there, but what was life without a little bit of conflict?

"There's still some people working in the ruins."

"How goes the excavation?"

"It goes." Alexis harrumphed. "Taking a lot longer that I would like it to be - damn rad storm. That friend of yours has been a huge help, though."

"Friend?" Grace took a moment to think if Deacon had slipped away to help. No, he'd only been gone long enough to get that addictol. "You mean Danse?"

"Yeah. Cal talked him into helping out around here while he waited for that caravan to pick him up. That power armor of his has been a godsend. I swear he could lift a full tonne of dirt out of the vault in that thing. He had been working with Tina, but she stormed off earlier today and never came back, so he's been down in the old reactor room shoveling out buckets of dirt for us to take outside once the storm clears."

"He's still here?" Grace asked, still slightly confused.

"Of course." Alexis snicker. "We couldn't just send him off in a rad storm."

"I supposed not." Grace nodded her head in agreement.

"He talked about you a bit." Alexis coyly added.

"He knows nothing about me."

"I know, but… He seemed impressed by you. Apparently you managed to kill a - what's it called… A ghoul! - with a headshot after setting off a mine on yourself."

"I didn't set it off." Grace argued. "A ghoul did while I was fighting them off… He's embellishing it a bit."

"Doesn't strike me as the type to embellish. Deacon, yes. Danse, no. Either way, a single bullet and you saved one of his kids."

"I wasn't aware he had children." There was a twinge in her gut at the thought of him having a wife and kids. She dismissed it. It wasn't jealousy. She didn't even know the man, it couldn't be jealousy.

"Danse said his name is Rhys."

"Rhys is a fully grown man." Grace barked in laughter, which quickly turned into a hiss of pain. "Shouldn't have done that." She moaned, gingerly clutching her side.

"Oh. The way Danse spoke, I could have sworn Rhys was a kid."

"If I ever see Rhys again, I'll make sure to let him know he's a child."

"Anyway. It adds more credence to your claim to have killed that deathclaw with only three bullets."

"That was a straight up lie." Grace admitted. "I had a mini-gun and power armor."

"That's no less impressive, Grace."

After a few minutes of silence, Alexis whispered, "He's quite handsome, isn't he? And built like nothing I've ever seen before. I mean, Holt used to work out and he had some definition to him, but Danse…" Alexis sighed, her eyes suddenly far away in a fantasy.

"Built like a brick shit-house?" Grace snarked.

"A what?"

"Just a phrase from back in the day. It's for someone so muscle bound they may as well be made out of bricks."

"A brick shit-house." Alexis mulled the phrase over for a moment, before nodding her head. "He is definitely that. Caught a glimpse of him down there the other day. He apparently had gotten hot and didn't have a shirt on. That boy's abs alone…" Alexis was of in her fantasy world again. Grace had to chuckle.

"Nate was like that." Grace sighed wistfully. "Six foot five with miles of muscles. He had muscles in places I had never even known a person could have muscles."

"Mmmm." Alexis hummed.

"His shoulders were what did me in. Deltoids…" Grace cooed, her mind wandering to the place Alexis already was at.

"Biceps." Alexis added. "I'll be dreaming about those for weeks to come." The two women were practically drooling.

"You should get back to work." Grace nudged her friend softly.

"I really should." Her tone laced with disgust as she pulled herself away from her daydream and looked at her pile of scrap. "Holt could have looked like that. I thought women were the ones who were supposed to let themselves go after they have kids."

"It comes for us all, eventually. You should see my little paunch and the c-section scar from Shaun. 200 years later and I'm still working off the pregnancy weight."

"You look fine. And if anyone has a problem with a little baby fat, can take it up with me." Alexis stood from the bench, turning to walk backwards as she left for her scrap pile. "You gonna be alright to get back downstairs?"

"I made it up them."

"That isn't an answer, Grace." She scolded, slipping into her Mom voice with remarkable ease.

"I'll be fine. If not, I'll sleep on the bench. G'night, 'Lexis."

"Night, Grace."

"Sweet dreams." Grace called after her friend just before she could get out of earshot.

"You're terrible." Alexis' voice echoed through the hallway. Grace sat on the bench for a while, just listening to the quiet hum of the vault round her. That was one thing she missed about her life before, all of the noise. Even on a quiet evening, there was still the drone of Codsworth's engines, cars driving down the street, someone's radio off in the distance, the dull clink and clatter of Nate in working on one busted thing or another, Shaun's mobile playing softly in the other room. Even in the silence there was noise. But here, in the wasteland Commonwealth, if there wasn't any gunfire blazing off in the distance, there was nothing. It drove Grace to pieces every time she would have to listen to the complete and utter silence that permeated her new world. There was no bird song to accompany wind in the nonexistent leaves. No crickets and peepers chirping away down by the creek. Not even the tick of the clock in her old home in Sanctuary. Grace had hated that clock that hung above their television. It had been a wedding present from one of Nate's aunts. An ugly bronze thing in a sunburst design with a clock face that was barely legible. She hung it and kept it at Nate's insistence, that aunt was terribly fond of dropping in on them unannounced in the early days of their marriage. She had been a rather brusk woman who had a tendency to speak whatever was on her mind. Admittedly, Grace had been the same, but she was never deliberately rude. Aunty Mags, however. She was just a bitch, plain and simple and she didn't care who she offended. Grace tolerated her, Nate adored his beloved aunt. So the clock hung on the large wall in their living room. For two and a half years, it hung there, pissing Grace off with every tick. She found it a year ago when sifting through the ruble of her old home and hung it back up on the wall where it belonged. Nate would have wanted it to stay there.

After awhile of taking in the quiet noise of the vault and the lives it protected, Grace stood up and made her way towards the reactor room. She knew that the secret entrance Bobby had found was permanently open now, allowing for easier access to remove debris from the vault that having to take the maintenance elevator every time they needed to move something. A good portion of the area had already been cleaned and the process of refurbishing had begun. The air had an odd smell. Like that of turpentine mixed in a blender with dust and ozone. Grace tried to ignore it as she slowly hobbled her way further into the vault. She stopped quite a few times to catch her breath. Looking behind her only proved that she had moved maybe thirty feet since her last stop, so she decided to quit doing that. Eventually, Grace made her way to the second reactor room where she could hear the sound of someone shoveling dirt and depositing each load into a burlap sack. A wheelbarrow would be too cumbersome to cart throughout the vault, so dirt and refuse were moved through the vault in large sacks that took 2-3 people to carry outside. In his power armor, Danse was able to carry two at a time. But his work in the stagnant, musty old basement reactor room worked up one hell of a sweat, so much so that even the cooling vents in his power armor didn't provide enough air to work comfortably. So, the suit of armor sat alone in Grace's room, while he worked in naught but his flight suit. Even then, after hours of hard labor, Danse needed to remove the upper half, tying his sleeves around his waist in a makeshift belt. He wore a white under tank that had been discarded and thrown onto one of the burlap sacks. He was too sweaty and it too drenched to do anything other than cling to him annoyingly.

Grace walked slowly towards him as he worked, his back to her as he continued to shovel dirt. Alexis hadn't been wrong about Danse's physicality. Not in the least. Nate had a swimmer's body; lean, slim and agile. but Danse was quite frankly Grace's definition of a brick shit-house. All brawn and what she had always imagined Hercules had looked like, muscles that had been carved from years of hard labor and heavy lifting. She smirked, watching him work as sweat dripped down his back. He was a sight to be seen, that was for sure.

"It's getting late, Paladin." Grace remarked, wiping her leering smirk off her face before Danse could see her ogling him. "Why don't you pack it in for the night?"

Danse didn't flinch at her voice's sudden appearance. He had heard her shuffling her way towards him awhile ago, but just kept working. He wasn't tired enough yet to quit for the night.

"There's still some more work I can manage tonight." Danse replied, looking over his shoulder at Grace. She was wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt and threadbare jeans. Under the flannel, she wore a stained, white tank top that he could see her bandages under. All of the dirt, grime, and oil had been washed from her face, revealing her tanned, freckled skin and crystalline blue eyes. Late at night, after he had showered and was laying in Grace's bed, his mind had a tendency to wander to those blue eyes, with their hidden flecks of green; as freckled as her skin was. They had been so bright and alert when she first looked at him, when she was coming out of a med-x haze. Something about her eyes unnerved Danse. He felt that if he stared into those beautiful crystalline eyes long enough, she could see into his soul, see every secret he had ever kept, every intimate moment he had ever shared. But to look away from her eyes seemed like a crime. Under the grime and war paint she had worn, Danse had never noticed how long and fine her eyelashes were. They accentuated her round, hooded eyes.

"It's nearly midnight. And you had better take a shower before you sleep in my room. I don't want it smelling of sweaty men." She tried coaxing him to put down the shovel. She didn't dare move forward into the piles of dirt. Even with her cane in hand she wasn't steady enough for uneven ground.

"I will. Once I have finished." He returned to piling heaping shovels into the sack.

"Danse." Grace stated calmly.

"These vault dwellers had some interesting stories about you." He changed the subject, keeping is focus purely on his work.

"I'm sure they do." Grace chortled.

"Tina De Luca had some interesting theories about you." Danse was never one to stir the pot, but it was easier to deflect attention back on to Grace.

"I'm sure she did. She was a fool not to accept my offer to get her out of here. But if she left, she wouldn't be able to keep Bobby under her thumb. And no matter how hard she tries to make up for the things she did, she's still got to be the one controlling that boy."

"Controlling him gives her a sense of comfort that she has one aspect of her life in her hands."

"Except it's not her life she's manipulating." Grace argued. "He was suicidal when I stepped in. One more hit of that junk and he would have overdosed and killed himself because he felt guilty about Austin. She turned him into a junkie. She watched him fall deeper and deeper into his addiction and did nothing to help him and Austin got hurt because of her. Austin nearly died because. Of. Her. Tina could have stepped in at any time and try to get him the help he really needed. She could have gone to Doctor Forsythe or Rachel and gotten him addictol. Instead, she cut him off cold turkey. That shit never works."

"I don't think it is our place to judge her actions. As abhorrent as I find chem use -"

"Have you ever seen an addict in need of a fix after being cut off?" Grace inquired, leaning her weight against the wall.

"I have not."

"Then you have no place to stand against me." There was no malice in her voice. Grace wasn't trying to argue with him, but calmly show Danse why she held no love for Tina. Danse decided to let the subject drop. He grunted in defeat as he wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. It was highly ineffective.

"I heard you had found the man that took your son." Danse stated, specifically excluding that he heard it from Tina.

"His name was Conrad Kellogg; went by Connie for a time. Originally from California." The calm demeanor from when she spoke of Tina switched immediately to one of seething hatred. Her eyes glared at him, boring into Danse's being with such veracity that he swore all oxygen escaped from the massive vault.

"Did you find out what he did with your son?"

"I did. But Kellogg is dead now."

"How did he die?"

"I put a bullet in his head." Her voice was dead. No emotion came from her as she admitted she had committed cold-blooded murder. "And I would do it again after what he did to my family."

Danse couldn't say that he necessarily disapproved of Grace's action, but seeing her standing there, completely emotionless about what she did to that man, unnerved Danse. As if she was a completely different person from the sarcastic woman that had trekked from Cambridge with him. She was fire and rage and Danse never wanted to be on the receiving end of that rage.

"How does he fit in with the Institute?" Danse asked, remembering that Grace had said she was tracking the Institute to find her boy.

"I don't know. All I know is he took my son and killed my husband for them. And I'll tear this Wasteland a part to get him back." Danse believed her. So far, he had no reason to doubt her resolve, but the woman in front of him was going to be a force to be reckoned with when she finally got her hands around the throat of the people that have her son.

Grace quietly watched Danse continue to work, shoveling pound after pound of dirt into a bag. Once it was full, he tied it off and started on a new sack. He could feel her watching him, taking in whatever information she could garner from watching him work. The stagnant air was growing more humid with every exhale and lift of the shovel. So much that he could see Grace wipe droplets of sweat from her temple out of the corner of his eye. The quiet between them, though awkward at first, grew to be comfortable the longer she watched him. It was sort of calming having her there, watching him do whatever he could to keep himself busy.

"Haylen and Rhys are holed up safely in the police station waiting out the storm like us." She quietly sighed, almost as if the paladin were not meant to hear her. Danse's shovel faltered momentarily. Of course she would be the one to know how truly upset by his circumstances Danse was. Of course.

"You cant be sure of that." Danse replied, continuing his mission of shoveling as much of this dirt as he could in one evening.

"I can. And I am."

"How?" Danse stabbed the shovel into the soft dirt far enough that it could stand on it's own. He marched toward Grace, pulling at one of his flight suit's sleeves to wipe his brow. "How can you be so sure of their safety?"

"Because." Grace shrugged.

"That isn't an answer." Danse left his patch of dirt, and stood looming over Grace.

"It is." Grace coyly smiled up at him, eyelids languidly blinking.

"How so?"

"Because. Worrying about something out of your control will drive you mad. For now, they're safe and sound, happily bickering about the rad storm and when to expect you back."

"And if they're not?"

"20 caps says they're bickering." Grace countered, her smile widened, showing off a set of remarkably white teeth. Toothpaste was a hard commodity to come by these days, after all.

"I'm not betting that they are bickering -"

"'Cause you know I'll win?" Grace shifted so more of her weight rested on her cane as Danse shook his head and snickered at her accusation. "Is that laughter I hear?" Grace tilted her head so she could look into Danse's downcast eyes. "My god, it is." She retorted when she saw the small smile on his face.

"What if they're not safe and sound to happily bicker?" Danse asked, the small smirk leaving his lips. "There were seven of us when we got here. Now we're three. We've had nothing but hardship and disaster since coming to the Commonwealth."

"They are okay, Danse." Grace reached her hand out to him, gently caressing his arm as she spoke. Her fingers were cool against his hot, sweaty skin and left tiny goosebumps in their wake. He was electrified by her touch, uncertain wether he should recoil from her or embrace her. "And if they're not," Danse inhaled sharply to argue that point with her, but Grace kept talking over him. "If they're not, there is nothing that you can do right now. Except go take a shower and get some sleep. This storm has to end sometime, and you need to be ready to move out as soon as you can."

"Grace -"

"Seriously, you need a shower. Look at you, all sweaty and… glistening. You're liable to drive a woman crazy looking at you."

"I… Pardon?"

"You heard me, Soldier Boy." Grace started hobbling away. "You need a shower before I will even consider letting you back into my bed."

"I may need a shower." She whispered under her breath, trying to ignore that lingering pull and heat she felt watching Danse work. And that smile. That small smirk shamelessly ripped through her gut. It was the same feeling she got every time she watched Nate working on his car - God, he loved that thing almost as much as he loved her - covered in grease and concentration knitting across his brow. There had been many occasion where she just needed to jump him and fuck him in the backseat of that car. But he always worked with the garage door open, and her neighbors were ever so nosey when it came to other people's lives.

Danse stared at the back of her head, unable to move and uncertain if he should. Not many women he knew had the courage to say something like that to him. Mostly because they were either his subordinates or superiors and alluding to any such thing would be highly inappropriate. Not that there weren't physical attachments between members of the Brotherhood. Just, not with Danse. Anything within a physical realm was outside of the most basic of protocol and was most definitely out of the question in his mind. Not that he had never yearned for the company of someone else in his bunk on many a night.

"Are you honestly going to stay here all night and shovel this filth?" Grace asked when she realized he was not following her. Danse tried not to stare with his mouth too far agape, or for the flush of his cheeks to be as prominent as it felt, so he turned to look back at the shovel. Hoping that maybe a split second of looking away would clear him of whatever emotions bubbled up on his cheeks. Misinterpreting Danse's glance back at his mound of dirt, Grace sighed. "Do whatever you want, Paladin. I get that you need to keep busy, but you'll be no use to anyone if you're too tired to stand on your feet come morning. Which is in 6 hours."

Grace continued to walk away from him, and exit the ruined vault, she shouted back, "If you need anything, I'll be in the clinic. Sleeping." As she left, she could hear the faint scratch of the damned shovel being laden with dirt.


	9. So Long, Fair Well

The vault was abuzz as Deacon walked through the lower halls. Making his way from the cafeteria to the clinic, the end of the rad storm was all anyone could seem to talk about. Sometime around four that morning was when the last rumble was heard. The geiger counters on the vault entrance went quiet not too long after that. With the rad storm over and done, those of the abandoned vault's clean up team would be able to start clearing out dirt again.

"Sucks that Dancer guy will be leaving with his power armor once that caravan gets here." Deacon overheard one gossip say. "He could do the work of four of us in that thing."

"He already did." Gossiper number two scoffed. "Did you see how many bags of dirt he piled up in the hold next to the gate? It's going to take us a week just to move those bags."

"Good luck with that." The first gossip smiled coyly. "I'm on painting duty in the r&d section of the old vault for the next couple of days."

"Shut up." Gossiper two walked away in a huff as Deacon passed. The two vault dwellers were completely unfazed by Deacon's presence. He was a common enough occurrence when Grace came round, and people just kind of accepted his presence if Grace was in the building. The whole point of Deacon taking up side-kick status with Grace was to linger in her shadow, become the invisible squire that lay forgotten whenever the knight in shining armor showed up. Everyone was always so impressed by her; either for being The General, the Sole Survivor of that vault, or just being one decent goddamned person out in the wastes and ruins. And Deacon loved every second he could slip in and out of other people's lives and conversations without so much as a blip in their periphery. Information, rumors, and gossip came in greater supply when you were the trusted ally of someone like Grace. And despite the few times he managed to make himself standout - the Rusty incident was the first to come to mind - no one seemed to care where Deacon was. He was an extension of Grace, and trustworthy by default.

Not that the gossip most vault dwellers dealt was of any interest to Deacon all too much. Too many of them were too wrapped up in their own little vault world to hold much information of value. And given that nearly a quarter of them had never even really heard of the Institute, things he heard very rarely were of import. Alexis, though. That was the woman to listen to for any goings on that could cause suspicion. She was in direct contact with so many caravans and traders that she heard the premium tales time and time again. There would be at least 50 different versions of the same story before traders would start cycling through again on their way in or out of the ruins. But, she had an ear for all that gossip and had a way of whittling down the tall tales to their most practical or likely nature. Alexis made one hell of an informant, even if she didn't know it. And the friendship that had developed between Grace and the mousey woman helped Deacon to coax a couple of things out of Alexis that would have normally gone unsaid. He knew he was manipulating her on those occasions, but that was the way the game was played, unfortunately.

"Good news." Deacon sighed as he walked into the clinic. Grace was sitting on the chair next to her bed, looking bedraggled and half awake. She was not a morning person. Never had been. At least before the war she had the luxury of coffee. God, she missed coffee. With its hearty aroma and it's life-giving bitterness. Grace took her coffee strong and black. Nate preferred it a little light and sweet; two sugars, and a tablespoon of creme. But here in the apocalypse, she had to make due with tea. Most people carried tarberry tea, and Grace hated the stuff. When Grace first heard of a tarberry and that they were farmed in bogs, she ostensibly linked the fruit to cranberries in her mind. She had liked cranberries before the war. Anything that tart was like a kick in the mouth, and Grace could devour whole packages of dried cranberries. And if tarberries truly were anything like cranberries, then maybe she could handle having to drink tea for the rest of her life. The unfortunate truth was that tarberries were nothing like cranberries. They were sweet and sugary, closer to a grape than those good ol' fashion red berries. And a tea made out of them? Nate would have drank the stuff by the gallon. He had loved anything sweet and there had been many an occasion where Grace would find his hidden stash of Fancy Lads stowed away in one hidden compartment or an other. Grace hated the things, and would leave them alone, letting Nate think his sweet tooth was still a secret.

"Ugh…" Grace groaned as Deacon handed her a mug of tea. She had managed to get from her bed to the chair with minimal groans and pain in her side, but her boots were giving her a hell of a time. No matter which way she tried to contort her body, she couldn't get that left shoe untied without feeling like she was going to rip out her stitches. "What is this?"

"Tea. Maria said its made from dried thistles, and its bitter as hell."

"Like my soul." Grace joked before Deacon could deliver the line. He'd been mulling that one over since Maria started steeping the tea. He had learned not to take it personally whenever she beat him to a punchline. Grace would always appreciate the effort a good joke could take. "What's the news?" She gave up on untying her shoe, instead began the forced process of savoring tea. She just wanted some god damned coffee. "What's the news?"

"Rad storm let up last night, around 4, Geigers stopped around 4:30. There's probably still some rads rolling in from the south, but nothing that would put your geiger in a tizzy."

"Danse will be leaving soon, then." Grace replied, sipping at her tea. This thistle stuff was better than that tarberry crap, but it still wasn't coffee.

"And so should we." Deacon glossed over the mention of Chuckles, and stooped down in front of Grace to finish tying her boot. "Grace, this is already tied…"

"I was taking it off so I could grab shower. Get up." She commanded, pulling her foot out of Deacon's hands. "I can manage that on my own.

"I'd like to leave sometime in the next week, so I'll handle it."

"Ass."

"You rang?" He smirked, making a show of untying both off her boots with exaggerated waves of his wrists. He pulled them off of her feet with a firm yank before standing upright. "Besides, we've got a date in Goodneighbor. Should've been there a week ago."

"Yes. You should have." Grace quipped. Deacon sat down on the bed, preparing himself for the incoming argument. Luckily, neither Forsythe or Rachel had started their day yet. Rachel had just come into the cafeteria as Deacon was leaving. And Forsythe was never in the clinic before 8 A.M. that gave them just over an hour on their own to openly discuss future plans. The comms that vault-tec had installed in all of the major hubs to spy on the vault dwellers were one of the first things to be torn out of the abandoned section. They were alone in the clinic with absolutely no one that could spy on them. And Grace was going to get feisty on this one, Deacon could tell.

"Grace-"

"The deal was we split up, I bag the Courser and smuggle you the chip, then we'd meet in Goodneighbor to keep them off our scent for a little while."

"That was before you got yourself blown up, Boss."

"Oh, don't give me that shit, Deac. I held up my end; I hid the pack in the wall in that diner, like we agreed. You were supposed to get the hell out of Cambridge when you got it."

"And I did."

"So what the hell were you doing at Oberland three days later? You should have been in Goodneighbor with Tinker and The Doc."

"I got sidetracked. One of your scouts caught wind of some Greenies closing in for a raid on Oberland. I stayed behind to help. Then Preston showed up with some reinforcements; said he hadn't heard from you in a few. I figured, I should stick around in case you were in need of a rescue. Which you were, thanks to Chuckles."

"I'm not some damsel in need of saving, Deacon." She used his full name. She was pissed.

"I didn't say that you were -"

"You should have gone to Goodneighbor like we had planned."

"You'd be dead on the side of the road if I had."

"That doesn't matter, Deacon!" Grace all but yelled at him. "It doesn't matter if I'm dead or alive, that chip will still tell you how to get in and out of the Institute with or with out me there."

"It does fucking too matter!" Deacon threw his words back at her. "It took us years to get anything done here in the 'Wealth. I was with our people for 10 years and we were barely holding it together. I mean, Christ. Look what happened at Switchboard. Then you show up, kick a few heads in, and we've got ourselves a door right into the goddamn lion's den. Not only that, but you've managed to clean this place up like no one else could. When's the last time you heard of a raider gang that's gotten out of line? Or the last time a caravan was lost to the Ghouls or Greenies? You did that Grace. You've built settlements, and brought down some of the toughest sons of bitches the 'Wealth has had to offer. You've made it safe out there for the first time in hundreds of years. You and your Minutemen -"

"They're not mine."

"You're their General, Boss. They're yours whether you like it or not."

"Don't call me that."

"Oh, get over your daddy issues, Grace. No one cares who your father was or the shit he pulled 200 years ago. He could have been the one to push the Big, Red Button for all I care. He's dead and you're here. So deal with it and move on. You've got a Commonwealth to save."

The pair sat in strained silence, neither looking to the other. They knew the argument was over, but neither was willing to speak first. Both needed a minute to calm down before something stupid was said.

"Hancock is right." Grace stated as a peace offering. "We really do fight like a married couple."

"I love you, Gracie-Poo, but you're going to have to do a whole lot better than get into spats with me to get me at the alter."

"I think we should make a pit stop in Diamond City on our way to Goodneighbor." Grace replied after a beat of silence. "I'm going to be pretty useless in the ruins."

"Hangman's might be the safer option, Boss." Deacon offered.

"Maybe, but I want to keep an eye on the traffic in and out of Diamond City. A dead Courser most likely put the Institute on high alert. And if they've got informants in Diamond City, they've got to have contacts coming in for intel."

"Which is exactly why you should stay at Hangman's." Deacon countered. "You've made it no secret you're looking for Shaun and gunning for the Institute. With Kellogg gone and now this Courser dead, they're bound to be on to you. Showing up in Diamond City would be a huge target on both of our backs. We should go to Hangman's and use the dead drop to send in one of our people to get a feel for the City. If they think its safe, we go in. Until then, we lay low."

"Just disappear after Kellogg gets murdered and a Courser goes down? It would look suspicious."

"You already disappeared, Gracie-Poo. A week in an underground vault during a rad storm is one hell of a hiding spot. And all the better to stay hidden until we get a lay of the land."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"You're the Boss. But no, I'm not."

"You're annoying, you know that?"

"I have been made aware. On several occasions."

"Fine. We'll go to Hangman's and lay low a for a little bit. Two days, that's all. I want Hawthorne on this. In and out in one night. He's an upper-stander and won't cause suspicion. Have him at least talk to Myrna, Cooke, and Vadim. He reports back, then we move out to Goodneighbor."

"I'll get word out to set the dead drop." Deacon replied, standing from the bed and moving to sneak out of the vault. Grace was right about Danse leaving soon. That caravan he was hoping to ride out with should show up at the vault door within the hour, and their arrival would be the perfect time to leave the vault for a "smoke break".

* * *

"You're leaving, I take it?" Danse heard Grace ask from the doorway to her room. He was sitting at the desk, his hands buried in the duffle bag of parts he had bought off of Alexis. Rummaging through the bag, taking inventory that everything was still there. It wasn't that he didn't trust the vault dwellers not to steal from him, but it was that he didn't trust the vault dwellers not to steal from him. The only personal effect he had in the vault with him really was his power armor, and that would have been too complicated, and noticeable, to steal. But small parts out of a duffle bag? Easy pickings. Part of Danse told him that if one of the vault dwellers did chance stealing from him, and that would put them in Grace's shit list by default - so they believed. And no one, outside of maybe Tina, wanted to piss Grace off.

"Yes. The caravan arrived ten minutes ago. They are trading with Alexis in the Depot now." Danse replied, looking up from the bag to see Grace walk into the room. She was wearing the same flannel shirt and ripped up jeans he had seen her in the night before, but she was barefoot now. Her brilliant golden hair was damp from a shower, and the shaved section of her head was covered with hair that had yet to be parted correctly. She looked at home, comfortable and relaxed. Danse couldn't help but smirk at the sight of her.

"What?" Grace replied, noticing the tug at the corner's of he lips. It was a small smirk, but it looked good on him.

"It's nothing." Danse replied, standing to offer Grace his seat at the desk. He could hear her small pants of exhaustion and pain from walking up the two flights of stairs from the showers to the bedroom. Grace waved her hand dismissively. Even when she had been pregnant with Shaun, she had never expected someone to give up their seat for her. As much as she disliked her father and the life he lead, Grace had been an army brat. Her father made sure Grace and her brother were anything but soft. She lost contact with both of them after Grace and Nate moved to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Her family had been stationed out in California when the bombs dropped. Like all of the rest of the skeletons that Grace dreaded, she had no clue what had become of her father and brother. Some days she regretted letting them fall off her radar. Other days, she hated them much more than she thought possible. It was whatever classified shit they had been doing that led to the bomb drops; she just knew it.

Danse watched Grace in silence as she walked to the bobblehead station and bounced one of the figurine's heads. The figurine was of the Vault-tec mascot standing behind a podium, apparently in the midst of a rousing speech. His head wobbled to and fro; in mockery of whatever speech the bobblehead was supposed to be giving.

"Who is it?" Grace asked, breaking the comfortable silence. She hobbled her way away from the display stand, and stifly sat on the bed across from Danse; grimacing as she did so. The pills Forsythe had given her weren't nearly as potent as med-x. They just barely took the edge off of the dull throbbing that radiated in her side. Moving carefully, Grace leaned over to her bedside table and pulled an old hair brush from the drawer. In careful sweeps, she began combing through her hair. There was a… familiarity to her actions? No, that wasn't quite the right word. It was more than that, and still less. Brushing her hair; its an everyday, mundane action that nearly everyone partook in. But sitting mere feet from her as she combed out knots in her wet hair felt so intimate, and yet so casual.

"P-pardon?" Danse asked after Grace had to repeat her question. He had the feeling she knew he had been staring. He looked down into his duffle bag, trying to hide a small blush from being caught. Enough of the parts he had bought were there to be certain that nothing had been stolen, but Danse needed something to focus on other than Grace.

"The caravan? Who is it?" Grace asked, her attention turned from Danse.

"A rather gaunt woman named 'Cricket'." Danse replied.

"Baha!" Grace laughed loudly, then immediately clutched her side in pain. "Oh, don't make me laugh."

"I fail to see how that is humorous."

"Couple of things you should know about Cricket." Grace set the hairbrush down, turning her full attention to Danse. With her hair brushed, Grace had pushed back the strands that were covering the left side of her head, exposing the perfectly smooth, shaved skin. She must have re-shaved that side in the shower. When Danse met her, there was nearly an inch of stubble starting to grow on that side of her head. "First, all she carries is guns and ammo. Which after that firefight you had last week, you may be needing some more energy cells for that rifle of yours." Grace nodded her chin towards Righteous Authority, which lay on Grace's desk, untouched for the last week. "But, she overprices all of her goods by at least 20%. Helps her turn a profit and fund her jet addiction. If you do trade with, barter her down. It may take awhile, and you may have to threaten to walk away a couple times, but she'll give in eventually. She always does. Second, if you somehow manage to piss off yet another horde of ghouls and get into a firefight, stay upwind of her."

"May I ask why?"

"She makes her own explosives. You can smell the gunpowder on her from 30 feet away. Stay upwind, and you won't set off a human bomb. Third, if she starts getting jittery - well more than normal - it means she's jonesing. She usually tries to keep clean when she's on the move, but just be aware she may try to get high between here and Oberland. If she does, stay on guard. I doubt she'd try to attack you in when you're in power armor, but… just be careful."

"Thank you for the forewarning. But, may I ask why you are telling me this?

"I'm doing you a favor. Trust me." Grace chortled.

"Then what do you want in return?"

"Excuse me?" Grace, shot a confused glared at the paladin. In the time she had known him, Grace was fairly certain she had asked for nothing from him. How could he just assume she wanted something?

"A fair trade. A favor for a favor. Is that not how you like to do business?" Danse's smirk grew a little larger as Grace's face soften from indignation to a lopsided smile. He was toying with her. Straight faced as ever, but Grace saw he was playing with her. There was a impish glint in his eye that Grace could have even mistaken for flirting.

"For now? I'll hold on to that favor." Grace playfully shrugged. "Call it in when I need some heavy things lifted."

"That power armor isn't a toy." Danse's smirk broadening into a full smile. "It can't be used for just any type of heavy lifting."

"I gave you that information free of assistance. I expect any favor I call on to be free of assistance as well. Gotta put those muscles to use, Soldier Boy."

Danse was about to reply when a dirty woman wearing a ratted, yellow shirt poked her head into the doorway. "You the dead weight we're taking up to Oberland?" Cricket asked. The lack of control she seemed to have over her own voice unnerved Danse. He looked over to Grace, who merely nodded her head. Silently, she told Danse that yes, she was always like this and no, this was not the jonesing jitters she had told him about. "Trader Girl didn't tell me you were pretty."

"I beg pardon?" Danse asked, not at all amused by Cricket's observation.

"Hot, but taken. Hello, General." Cricket greeted Grace with a snicker and a smirk. It was obvious to Danse that Cricket liked to poke at people, play and joke with them without realizing she was poking at wounds.

"Not taken." Grace spat at the gaunt woman and stood from her bed, albeit with some difficulty. She walked to Danse and held out her hand. "It was... well it wasn't necessarily good working with you, Danse. I did almost die. But I'm glad we met, and if you need anything, you contact the Minutemen. They'll get me in touch with you. And, I'll make sure the keep a couple patrols in the Cambridge area until you can contact your people back in D.C."

Danse stood from his chair, accepting Grace's handshake. "I appreciate that. It was good to meet you. Although, I do wish it had been under better circumstances. Any time you need to call in that favor, you know where I am stationed." Neither he nor Grace let go of each other's hands after the shake should have ended. His hands were rough and warm, and enveloped hers almost completely. She would have been lying if she didn't feel butterflies in her stomach at the thought that his hands felt like Nate's hands.

"Jesus." Cricket moaned from the door. Danse let go first, dropping his arm to his side.

"Goodbye, Grace." He said with a sense of finality.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Soldier Boy." Grace nodded curtly, pushing past Cricket to leave the room.

Once she was out, but still in ear-shot, Cricket asked, "So, how many times did you two fuck?"

"I will not dignify that with an answer." Danse responded, annoyed at the woman's rather uncouth mouth. He twisted open the power armor's release before climbing inside. "I suggest you show both Grace and myself a little more respect." He voiced once locked inside his powerful exoskeleton. "May we leave now?" Danse slung the duffle bag of supplies around his shoulder and exited the room, pushing past Cricket as he did.

"You forgot your gun." Cricket pointed at the laser rifle still laying on Grace's desk.

"It does not belong to me. It's Grace's, so don't touch it." Danse responded, heading toward the elevator that would take him to the surface.


	10. On the Road Again

Grace sat quietly at a table in the cafe as she waited for Danse to leave. It didn't take long for him to exit her room clad in his massive suit of power armor. There were days she missed the protection that old T-45 model had given her. It had been invigorating, running around the Commonwealth nigh indestructible as she took odd jobs here and there with the Minutemen to get her on the path toward finding Shaun. The whole reason she had agreed to join up with the few survivors there were was because they travelled the 'Wealth. Staying on the move was the best way to track and with every new settlement she encountered, lead her one step closer to narrowing on Kellogg and the Institute. Preston had been as loyal as Dogmeat in those early days, following Grace on every whim in the name of liberating the Commonwealth. But after the Castle, after naming her General, Grace decided to keep her distance. She and Preston had stumbled on Deacon and some other Railroad agents by mistake a few months before the Minutemen retook the Castle, and Grace didn't officially become a member until after finding the Minutemen an HQ.

Deacon floated in her periphery for a few months, showing up randomly in Diamond City and Goodneighbor, once in Sanctuary. Always in some disguise or another, but always with those damned sunglasses. Sometimes Grace felt guilty about leaving Preston with the Castle, like she had traded him in for a new toy. But he seemed happy running the day-to-day business of the Minutemen. And it wasn't like Preston didn't know what she was doing. He knew she was working with the Railroad to find a way into the Institute. She told him, ordered him in her one moment of taking ownership of her title, to take care of things topside for her while she worked on getting to the people down below. And once the Minutemen had been established as a police force and not a military installment, Preston's job was pretty simple.

And now there was potentially a new player in town. The Brotherhood. Grace liked Danse, she liked Haylen. Rhys could go fuck a cactus. And as much as Grace wanted to believe Danse would use his new salvage to transmit an extraction call, she knew the calvary would come the moment they got word from the Paladin.

Grace had something the Brotherhood would want; the key to the Institute's front door. No way would they let that slip from their grasp. If Deacon was to be believed, they would cause more trouble than Grace could fathom before the Brotherhood was through with the 'Wealth. She had fucked up telling Danse's team about that Courser chip. Not much that she could do about now she thought as Danse boarded the elevator up to the surface. She waved to him, but he didn't wave back. Cricket did as she enthusiastically pointed at Danse while making a crude, sexual gesture. If Cricket managed to make it to Oberland without Danse shooting her, it would be a miracle. She barely waited a minute before returning to her room upstairs.

Her room felt much bigger, lonelier, without the power armor engulfing a whole corner of the room. Grace made her way to sit on her bed and rest a bit when she noticed Danse's rifle sitting on her desk.

"Shit." She grumbled, walking over to the desk, hoping she could catch him outside the vault door and not too far down the road. But, a small piece of dicolored paper sat gingerly on top of the capacitor. Curiously, Grace open the folded paper to find a hastily scribbled note from Danse.

 _Grace,_

 _I knew that, would I have tried to give this to you in person, you would have refused me. However, please consider this gun both a gift and an apology. I do take responsibility for waking the horde that re-opened your wound. And, while you are adept with that pistol, I would feel better knowing that you are out in the Commonwealth with a sidearm that provides more protection that just 10mm bullets. The capacitor is standard Brotherhood issue, but I have taken the liberties of making a few modifications over the years. I hope that it protects you on your mission to find your son as well as it has protected me during my time with the Brotherhood. Take care._

 _-Danse_

 _P.S. This is a gift. You are not in my debt and do not owe me._

Grace couldn't help but smile reading Danse's note. Especially the post script. He was so literal. But it was refreshing. There was a sense of innocence, of boyish charm to the note that Grace had to laugh. Nate would have like him; they probably would have been good friends. Nate was serious, but not like Danse. Nate had his moments of playfulness here and there. Less so after he was sent home from Anchorage. Grace had the feeling that there was a playful side to Danse. One which, from an outsider's perspective could be considered dry and humorless. But if they'd just take the moment to get to know him a little, that impish gleam Grace caught in his eye was as apparent as the sun. He looked so grim and straight faced, but that glint in his eye meant he was trying to play. Hell, maybe even bond with Grace. Who knew?

From the way Danse held himself and the way Deacon spoke about the Brotherhood, Grace got the impression that most of the Brotherhood's soldiers were dry and humorless. Cause and glory above all else. But that tiny little moment she and Danse shared, a glimmer of flirtatiousness and jokes, made Danse seem like he was trying to be more than just The Paladin, The Soldier. Or maybe something less; something different. She could respect wanting something different than the titles they were given. How many times had she tried to change that herself? Roger's Daughter, Sole Survivor, The General.

Grace had never wanted to become The General, The Savior, The Survivor. She wanted her son. She had followed the natural progression of events. Events she thought would bring her closer to finding Shaun. But, everything she did just brought down one giant spotlight after another on her - Travis didn't help matters, broadcasting every detail he could get about Grace all over Diamond City Radio. Finding the Minutemen led to the Castle, which led to protecting settlements, which lead to bartering with Diamond City, which led to getting Nick's help, which led to Kellogg, which led to the Railroad, which led to creating Minutemen sponsored caravans as a guise to move escaped synths around, which led to false information for a Courser to find an escaped synth (Grace in disguise). Rummaging through that Courser's splattered brain matter to find that chip was something Grace wished she could forget. And now here she was.

None of this - the Minutemen, the Castle, the Railroad - had been for the greater Commonwealth. All of it, a year and a half's worth of work - with a few sabbaticals thrown in when that jones hit hard enough - all of it was to find Shaun. Not that she hadn't grown to care for the Minutemen of the Railroad or the synths she had helped, but they were not the top priority. And Grace knew it to be true of them as well. She loved Deacon. She loved Preston. But they both had their own missions, their own priorities. Deacon, always hiding behind his lies and pretending to be anything but himself; afraid of getting burned and blowing his cover with his cloak and dagger bullshit. Preston, his top priority would always be the settlements and civilians he swore to protect. Hell, even Piper had been guilty of it, putting the needs of the story above the needs of herself and her sister. But here, in this quick scribble of a note, that could have simply been an afterthought, here someone she barely knew offered her hope and protection in her attempts to find her son. Danse had his own mission, to find the front door to the Institute, and he had it in his grasp. He could have held her hostage, refusing Grace medical aid to get what he wanted, what he had been sent to the Commonwealth to find. He could have ransomed off that chip for the promise of a proper doctor. Instead, he offered her a gift and a prayer. Because, that chip may have been what he was sent to find, but Grace offered him something he needed more. Supplies. Medicine. Ammunition. Salvage to get word back to Capital Wasteland for reinforcements or even extraction if the situation was dire enough. Deacon would prefer the latter.

Grace smiled. Danse was literal. He was dry humored. Compassionate, if a little guarded. And he was kind. Carefully, she folded the note from him and turned toward the row of lockers. At some point, Deacon or Rachel or someone, had brought her pack up from the clinic to her room, storing it in one of the lockers. Hobbling cautiously, Grace fished the metal box from it's secret pocket and placed Danse's note inside. It fit snugly, resting on top of Nate's wedding band and dog tags, and Shaun's old rattle.

"Keep them safe." She murmured, closing the lid & hiding the box back in its spot.

"You, uh… You 'bout ready to head out?" Deacon asked from the doorway.

"Yeah." Grace replied, pulling the pack completely from the locker.

"Let me carry that. Doc says you shouldn't be putting too much strain on your back or side."

"Thanks." Grace replied, smiling half-heartedly as she handed over the backpack.

"You alright, Boss?" He shouldered the bag, sitting down on the corner of the desk.

"I just… I really miss Nate. I wish he was here."

"I know, Gracie-poo." Deacon nodded his head. "Where'd you get this new toy?" He asked after a beat, picking up Danse's old gun off of the desk.

"It was a gift." Grace answered without hesitation. "I guess some people think I need a little more protection when I go Outside."

Grace got the feeling that, if she told him the truth of who the gift giver was, he would have thrown it in the trash. Metaphorically, of course. A gun is a gun, and it would be a waste of a decent supply of protection to get rid of that particular gun. But Deacon would despise its existence.

"You had plenty of protection before you hawked that power armor." Deacon reminded Grace, slowly turning the laser rifle over in his hands, inspecting it.

"Hardly." Grace chuckled. "200 years of sitting out in the elements destroyed most of the plating, the HUD didn't work half the time so I couldn't wear the helmet… It was worth more in pieces than it was put together."

"What did you do with all those caps, anyway?" He asked. Deacon raised the rifle closer to his face, finding something of interest on the capacitor.

"You're gonna shoot your eye out." Grace grabbed the gun away from Deacon before he could accidentally do something. Grace knew he couldn't. The gun wasn't loaded and the safety was locked, but she didn't like how much he was scrutinizing that damn gun. "I spent the caps." She answered after taking her new gun away from him. "Preston needed most of them for salvage to fix the Castle. Rest went to buying seeds and starters for crops in Minutemen settlements. Kept enough to buy ammo and emergency supplies. Where's Dogmeat?"

"He went with me when I went out for a smoke. He's still running around out there. Needs it after being holed up in here for a week.

"Alright. Let's move out." Grace pushed past Deacon to leave the vault.

"You know, laser rifles take fusion cell ammo. That shit ain't cheap."

"I get a 'friends and family' discount at KLEO's in Goodneighbor."

"Really? Man, I gotta get on Hancock's good side."

"The right." Grace smiled coyly.

"Come again?"

"His good side is his right. You can't see through his cheek on that side."

"Ha. Ha. I'll tell him you think that."

"He already knows. Told me, 'Ever get the urge to give me a kiss, Sister, keep it on the right'."

"Why would he say that?" Deacon asked. Grace merely shrugged.

"Why not?"

* * *

The trek from the vault back to Cambridge was uneventful. Cricket liked to talk - more of stream of consciousness rambling than talking really - and her two caravan guards seemed quite adept at tuning the jittery woman out. They took the same roads back toward Oberland that Danse and Grace had taken a week ago, but it seemed a much shorter trip. Danse figured this was because there wasn't a horde of ghouls ready to attack at a moment's notice. Cricket's incessant rambling probably scared them all off.

Danse was eventually able to drown her out with his own mind-numbing thoughts. He kept walking along the train tracks, silently counting his steps in his mind to pass the time as he walked. It had been a game of his when he still was a scaver back in Rivet City. There could be long hauls between one scavenging hole to the next with not much else to do besides count to the highest number he could think of or go crazy with boredom. The highest he ever got had been somewhere in the five thousands.

There was a large caravan leaving Oberland's gate, much larger than Cricket's. They had set out from Oberland just as Cricket's crew was coming in and exchanged a few pleasantries with the guards on Cricket's brahmin.

"You guys headed north?" the female guard asked one of the minutemen.

"Yeah. Sanctuary. The L.T. found some settlers Raiders kidnapped from Connecticut and Rhode Island. Taking them up to Sturges, find a place for 'em. Been up there lately?" The minuteman replied cordially. Danse got the feeling the guards in the commonwealth were all on pretty good terms with the Minutemen. Without that police force keeping raiders and other wasteland inhabitants in line, the caravan guards' jobs would be much more difficult.

"Nah. Crick's been running the Bunker Hill - Diamond City routes lately. There's some raiders holed up near them robots that got a ship. Making some good caps off 'em. But, between you and me, might be something your L.T. might want to look into in about a month or so. Got a feeling they're planning something your Big Boss won't like."

"Noted." The Minuteman nodded her head. "I'll let Preston know."

"Hey, uh, Power Armor." The guard turned to Danse. "Why don't you hitch a ride 'cross the river with these guys? They'll get you close enough to Cambridge to meet back up with your crew on their way north."

"I don't wish to be a burden." Danse said, looking at the minuteman.

"No burden. You look like can handle yourself. And, uh," She whispered, leaning in closer to Danse, "these poor bastards are still spooked from the raiders that had 'em. Think they'll feel a little safer with a suit of power on their side, eh?"

"Very well. Thank you."

"Nah, thank you. Can always use an extra gun. Name's Fish. That's Merle." She pointed to the other Minuteman that was loading up the brahmin. Once finished, he pulled on the brahmin's lead and began walking the tracks back north.

In addition to the two Minutemen, there were three adults, two kids, and what looked to be some mange-ridden dog. It could have been an exceptionally large mole rat. The two children stayed close to two of the adults, whom Danse figured to be their parents. The third adult kept to himself at the brahmin's right flank. He nervously fidgeted with his hands as he walked and gave the dog-rat a wide birth if it came too close.

"New guy." Merle called back to the nervous man "You wanna make it to Sanctuary before dark, you gotta keep up."

"S-sorry." He muttered, quickening his pace to match the others. "What's it like there?" He asked, looking hopefully at the two Minutemen.

"It's nice." Fish replied. "Real nice. They patched up some of the old houses that was there before the war. They even have roofs that don't leak. And it's like, this island on a river, right? I hear, they've enough water purifiers that they have a surplus L.T. is negotiating to sell to Bunker Hill. Can you imagine having that much water they can afford to ship it to Bunker Hill? The clean bath water alone… Sanctuary is the place to be, my friend."

"I hear, Sturges even rigged up an underground sewer system for the outhouses." Merle added. "And, the General has Sturges working on putting up some waterwheels to power the generators so they don't have to use Mr. Handy fuel anymore."

"It's a good place to get comfortable and find your bearings before we can get you relocated to a settlement that needs you."

"Relocated?" One of the kids asked.

"Sanctuary has limited space. It is island and unfortunately not everyone can stay there. We try to get as many new settlers there for a short time so they can rest up and rest easy for a bit before we find a farm or settlement that needs the manpower." Merle replied.

"Especially if them new settlers were taken by raiders like you lot was." Fish added. "You all need a break and a warm bath after what they put you through. Of course, you're free to go back to Connecticut or Rhode Island, the General wouldn't force you to stay or anything like that. But, if you do decide to stay in the Commonwealth, you're gonna need a place to live, and the settlements under our protection are always looking for more help. My guess is they'll send you down to Abernathy's farm. Good people, the Abernathys. One of the first farms to help rebuild the Minutemen. They were hit by a Mutie attack not too long ago and lost some of their farmhands. Ever work tato crops before?"

"Yeah. Back in Connecticut." The man holding on to one of the children replied.

"Like I said. Decision is yours to stay here or go back to Connecticut. There's some caravans that run out of Goodneighbor that trade in Capital Wasteland, and they'd be the best way to get south out of the 'Wealth."

"We'll have to talk it over." The woman replied. They walked in silence the rest of the way north across the river. As they came to the bridge, Danse immediately began climbing the broken train car to avoid the broken trestle.

"Didn't know you knew about that." Fish said after asking him what he was doing.

"Grace pointed it out to me last week." He replied from the top of the train car."

"Grace? You mean the General?" Fish asked astonished as she pulled the brahmin passed the train car. Just as Danse was about to ask how the cow got passed the trestle, it gingerly stepped over the broken tracks, as if trained to walk across the bridge that way.

"Yes. I accompanied her to Vault 81 to do some trading, but got stuck there during the rad storm."

"You know the General?" Merle asked, just as astonished as Fish.

"Yes. Don't you?"

"No. We've never met her."

"Nope. She's been in and out of MIA status a couple times over the last few months." Fish added. "She just disappears for weeks at a time, looking for her kid I guess. But it drives Preston crazy whenever he hasn't heard of sightings of her. She's good at hiding when she wants to."

"Why would she do that?"

"I dunno." Fish shrugged. "I mean, Merle and I are still pretty new to the Minutemen. Who knows what's going through them higher-ups' heads?"

"Yeah, who knows…" Danse climbed down the train car as the caravan resumed their silent march northwards. Danse parted company with them about a mile out of Cambridge at a fork in the road.

"It was good meeting ya, Power Armor." Fish said, playfully hitting Danse's armored shoulder. "Look, you and your people need any help, this is the radio frequency to contact The Castle. Tell them you need help, they'll send out the call, and any Minutemen in the area will come." She scribbled out the the frequency for Radio Freedom on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to Danse. "See ya around." She waved and the seven other people continued on their journey north to what sounded to be a paradise in Sanctuary.

The sun was just cresting on noon as Danse walked through the familiar rear gate to the old police station. Everything was quiet and peaceful. There didn't appear to be any new bodies laying in the courtyard, so it had either been quiet, or Rhys and Haylen took care of any bodies that feel in combat. Danse somberly made his way into the building. The door clanged shut behind him, and a startled scribe ran to the front stairs.

"Oh, thank god!" Haylen exclaimed at the sight of Danse taking off his helmet. "Rhys, Top is back!" She yelled, turning so she could be heard at the back of the building.


	11. You're on the Air

"Told ya he was fine." Rhys remarked as he made his way into the main lobby of the police station. Haylen was clutching Danse's helmet to her chest as he climbed out the back of the power armor. She let out an audible sigh of relief when he appeared from the metal exoskeleton unscathed.

"We were so worried." Haylen stated, handing the helmet back to Danse.

"You." Rhys corrected. "You were worried."

"We got the message on the HAM, but it came through garbled because of interference from the storm. I wanted to go look for you, but Grace never told us the name of the settlement she was taking you to, and we had no clue where to start."

"You had no clue." Rhys corrected, again. "I knew Top was ok and you'd be back as soon as the storm passed through."

"No you didn't." Haylen turned on Rhys. "You can play it off as cool as you please, but I remember you saying 'if he doesn't come back, how are we going to get word back home?'"

"Yeah, get word back to tell the Elder we had a key into the Institute."

"Uh-huh."

"Enough." Danse sighed, stretching out a kink in his back before tossing the duffle bag to the scribe. "Haylen, see what you can manage to rig together from this scrap. Rhys, take this down to the armor station in the basement, the left leg actuator is sticking again." Danse pointed his thumb behind him at the suit of armor.

"Yes, sir." Both subordinates echoed as they set out to do their work. Danse sat down at the front table to give himself a moment of respite. He had to smile at himself. For as much as he loved his work in the Brotherhood, there was a small part of him that was already starting to miss the simplicity of the vault. No synths to hunt, no subordinates to be responsible for, hot showers, and a comfortable bed that didn't have a tendency to lump in the middle. It was a soft life down in that vault; one he ultimately knew was too slow and easy for him. But it had been a nice little vacation to see how the other half lived. Grace was probably still there, sitting on that bed. It had smelled of her. He noticed it the first night he slept there. Her pillows held a sweet yet earthy smell of her hair. He would never admit it aloud, but he rather liked the smell of her engulfing him in her bed. It was a welcoming scent, a smell of home. Not that he had ever really had a home outside of his bedroll in Rivet City and a cot in the Brotherhood. But he liked the notion that he could have one and that it smelled faintly of Grace.

After a moment, Danse stood from the table and made his way upstairs to help Haylen piece together his scraps to try and get a long range transmitter working. She was sitting on the roof of the station, all of the salvage pulled from the bag and laid out before her.

"You got some good finds." She admitted once she heard the door open and close behind her. She didn't need to look at him to know Danse was the one that have come up to the roof. Rhys had his assignment, and fixing that actuator would most likely take all afternoon to work on. "It may take a couple of days, but I think I can make this work."

"I was hoping we could gerry rig something up to the HAM radio and boost the frequency."

"Could do." Haylen nodded. She was currently scrutinizing an old circuit board Alexis had thrown in for Danse. "Some of this stuff is in really good shape. Whoever fixed this stuff up could work wonders for the Brotherhood."

"Woman named Alexis. I bought all this off of her. She is a good friend of Grace's."

"So, where was this settlement of Grace's?"

"It was a vault, just south of the river by a couple miles."

"A vault? Was it the one Grace was from?"

"No. It was called 81." Danse confirmed. "I've never seen a place so clean. Their hydroponics lab was huge, and they have enough clean water to take a hot shower daily."

"Oh, that sounds amazing." Haylen sighed. She hadn't taken a real bath since they had showed up in the Commonwealth. Just a sponge bath every now and again with a can of purified water to stem the tide of body odor. The Brotherhood had enough clean water reserves that most members could take a full shower once a week. But daily? That was a luxury almost no one in the wastes had ever imagined could really happen. "Sounds like a great place to hole up during a rad storm." There was a twinge of jealousy in Haylen's voice, but Danse couldn't fault her for that.

"I worked the whole time." He admitted, picking up an old lightbulb and starting to pull the copper wiring out of the bulb.

"Figures." Haylen remarked, sarcastically. "What did they have you do? Scrape rust off the door?" She laughed.

"Yes, actually." He laughed. "There was a ruined section of the vault…" Danse regaled Haylen with the tale of the Vault-Tec mole rats and Grace's heroics, saving Austin - but not before he lost his leg - finding a cure for him, helping Bobby get clean, the project to expand the vault into the ruins, the vault residences' near hero worship of her.

"She sounds like quite a woman." Haylen replied once he had finished.

"Yeah." Danse sighed. Grace's playful smile in his mind. "She's something alright."

"You know, someone like that, who has respect and a reputation for doing good work, would be a great addition to the Brotherhood. I mean, I know she said she's not a fan of the military, but the Brotherhood has done a lot of good work, and I don't see DC falling apart in war and chaos."

"You weren't there ten years ago." Danse replied.

"Yeah…" Haylen replied, letting them fall into a comfortable silent as the two soldiers stripped down the salvage to basic parts and began making plans as to how to create a long-range transmitter from scrap. It was slow, but engaging work as they moved through the afternoon. By mid-evening, the pair had roughed out a basic idea of how they would get everything up in running in the next few days.

Five days was all it took to get everything hooked up. It had been fortuitous that Haylen had a soldering iron in her pack. To be honest, there wasn't much that Haylen hadn't packed when they set out for the Commonwealth months ago. Rhys had commented a couple times that he was surprised she hadn't tried to pack the entire Prydwen in her giant backpack.

"If Captain Kells would have let me try, I would have." She laughed it off. But she and Danse worked around the clock as they fit every wire and device together.

"Alright." Haylen sighed. "Lets see how well this goes." She walked over to the door, yelling down the stairs to Rhys. "Rhys, try broadcasting now." She yelled to him. A couple seconds of silence, then static, then nothing. "Damn. Maybe we need to -"

"Team Gladius, this is -" A static voice rang through the transmitter. "Come in, Team Gladius. This is Senior Scribe Bendis, do you read me?"

"Holy shit! It worked!" Haylen squealed with joy, hugging Danse and bouncing around in excitement. She grabbed the mic they had hooked into the transmitter, barely containing her joy as she spoke. "Scribe Bendis, this is Scribe Haylen, registration Hotel-November-1-1-8-Foxtrot-Sierra, do you read?"

"Good to hear from you Gladius." Bendis replied after a moment to verify Haylen's registration number. "Some of us were beginning to think you wouldn't be coming back."

"Came pretty close - "

"This is Paladin Danse, registration Delta-November-4-0-7-Papa. Team Gladius is requesting reinforcements to the Commonwealth." Danse stated, taking the mic from Haylen.

"Sir?" Haylen asked, surprised by the request. She had figured he would ask for extraction before asking for more people to be sent to the Commonwealth. Danse held up his hand to Haylen to quiet her.

"Scribe Bendis, did you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. It's just… Why?"

"Scribe Haylen has been picking up interesting readings and energy fluctuations that we believe are related to the Institute's activities here. I'm requesting back-up be sent to further investigate."

"The Institute?" Bendis asked, he honestly had no clue what the Institute was or what Danse was talking about.

"Inform Captain Kells or Elder Maxson that we believe we have found a way into the Institute." Danse replied.

"Elder… Elder Maxson, sir?" Bendis asked in disbelief. The fact that Danse was asking for two of the highest ranking members of the Brotherhood East Coast meant whatever the paladin was asking for went way above his pay grade. "I'll make sure he gets word, sir."

"Good. We need reinforcements soon. I've been able to resupply with a local settlement, but the Commonwealth is in a more dire situation than we originally believed. There is a local police force that tries to keep peace, but they are only maybe one hundred strong. And with the threat of the Institute and their synths, the Minutemen needs all of the help that they can get."

"The Minutemen, sir?" Bendis asked, trying to write down all that Danse was saying so that he could report it directly to Elder Maxson.

"It is what the police force call themselves. I have met their leader, their General. Suffice it to say that these Minutemen have a lot of the same goals in mind as the Brotherhood does, and I think they may accept the offer of our aid."

"Sir?" Haylen asked again, knowing full well that Grace would likely refuse any aid the Brotherhood offered. She herself had suggested trying to get Grace to join up, but Haylen knew it would never happen. What Danse was suggesting would likely piss Grace off before it would ever make her consider accepting their help.

"I will relay this information to Elder Maxson." Bendis replied once Danse finished speaking.

"I expect a reply within the hour, soldier." Danse demanded.

"Yes, sir."

The hour passed slowly as the three soldiers waited on the roof of the police station for a reply from D.C. They were all quiet, not even Haylen or Rhys could muster the energy to break the tension of waiting for word from command. Waiting had never been easy for either Rhys or Danse. They were men of action, needing to do something productive to know that they weren't wasting their time. But Haylen could sit for hours as she waited for an answer to come to her. It was a beneficial trait to have as a scribe. Patience was a virtue that so many out in the wastes lacked. Two hours passed before the transmitter crackled back to life.

"Squad Gladius, do you read?" Bendis' voice called over the radio.

"This is Paladin Danse." He replied as soon as Bendis finished his sentence.

"I have spoken with Elder Maxson -"

"Give me that." Another voice crackled through the radio. "Danse? It's Arthur. It's good to hear from you, Old Man." Arthur Maxson spoke into the mic. "I understand from Scribe Bendis that you have information on the Institute?"

"Yes, we do." Danse confirmed.

"You have a way in?"

"Had one." Rhys muttered, just barely audible, but Danse still shot him an angry look. Rhys was none too happy with Danse when he discovered the paladin had left Grace behind without securing that Courser chip she had told them about.

"Yes and no." Danse admitted.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I know of someone who has a way into the Institute. But, the situation is difficult here, Arthur. The woman who has the information, she's… Well, she's a bit of a hero here in the Commonwealth, and is the leader of what semblance of a police force there is here. I know she wouldn't be willing to part with the information without getting something in return. She deals in fair trades. And if we want her to give us something, we're going to have to make a deal."

"Reinforcements." Maxson stated, already putting Danse's plan together. "She gets aid to keep the peace, and we get a way to take down the Institute."

"Exactly." Danse nodded. "However, it gets a little more complicated than that."

"Really?" Maxson asked, not in the least surprised by this admission.

"She's not a fan of the military. But, I think if we come here with the purpose of solely keeping peace, she may change her mind."

Haylen and Rhys both looked to one another, unsure of Danse's plan. While they had had a very limited interaction with Grace, they both were very sure of her anti-military standing. She wouldn't just change her mind about the Brotherhood on a whim and a deal.

"Do you think it would work?" Maxson asked, also seemingly unsure of Danse's plan.

"We have to try, don't we?" Danse asked. "If she doesn't cooperate, then we improvise. Find our own way into the Institute."

"I'm trusting your judgement on this one, Old Man." Arthur replied. "Okay. You'll have your reinforcements in a few days."

"How many men are you sending?"

"As many as can fit on the Prydwen." Arthur chuckled.

* * *

Trekking through the Boston ruins was slow work for Deacon and Grace. They both thanked any lucky stars that Hangman's Alley was only an hour's walk from 81. Well, normally an hour's walk. Grace's slow pace pushed their arrival back to around noon before she collapsed into one of the cots offered up at the common house. Hangman's was a perfect little trading hub for the caravans that worked through the ruins. Only a few minute's from Diamond City and was always open for market days from farmers both under Minutemen protection or not. Diamond City only opened it's market to farmers once a season, thinking farmers would be able to bring in a larger haul once every three months instead of whenever they had the produce to sell. What the Diamond City folks failed to realize was the crops worked on their own schedule, not man's. If there was food to be harvested, it needed to be harvested or go to waste. And many of the smaller farms couldn't harvest and keep their produce long enough to work on Diamond City's schedule. Any surplus needed to be sold quickly or else it would go to rot and be of no use to anyone. Grace had a few farmers that knew the finer points of composting, and tried to get them into Hangman's as much as possible so they could teach others handy little tips and tricks to get a compost heap started. If they could compost what would have gone to rot, at least it wasn't going to waste.

Market day was in full swing when Grace and Deacon made it through Hangman's front gate. Farmers and traders were barking out their wares to anyone that would listen, a livestock auction was going on in the back alleyway, and a general trader was holed up in a makeshift booth, trading for any non-perishable goods anyone had to offer. The noise and activity reminded Grace of walking through the open air bazaars she had visited before the war. People living out their lives, working to sell off whatever would go for a decent profit. She had to smile as she limped through the market to the common house where any traveller could grab a bed for a modest amount of caps. Delilah, the woman who ran the hostel had told Grace she could stay for free, that Hangman's would exist if it hadn't been for her, but Grace refused. She always paid her 10 caps, just like anyone else. But, Delilah always made sure that Grace got a private room if she stayed the night, instead of one of the bunks in the dormitory. She rested in the private room for most of the afternoon, the dull, throbbing pain in her side made her want to sit down and never move again.

After her allotted two days, and hearing no news of interest from Hawthorne coming out of Diamond City, the pair moved on to Goodneighbor. They were nearly a week past their appointment with Doctor Amari and Tinker Tom, but Grace knew both of them would still be waiting there. The Doc and Tinker knew Grace and Deacon had to plan according to the 'Wealth's schedule, which was unpredictable on the best of days. And a two week delay, while annoying, was nothing compared to some of the shit they had to put up with out there.

The journey to Goodneighbor was much easier than Grace was expecting. The meds Doctor Forsythe had given her worked surprisingly well, despite the fact they were no Med-x. Grace worried every now and again about that nagging want of a hit, but she kept her head as they moved through the ruins. They made good time as they moved, getting to Goodneighbor by nightfall three days after leaving the vault.

"Home sweet garbage." Deacon sighed upon entering the neighborhood. "Should we let Hancock know we're here, or just get down to brass tacks?"

"Memory Den. He'll hear from someone that we're here." Grace responded, making her way down the garbage laden alleyways to the Memory Den.

"Evening, Ma'am." A couple of the neighborhood watch greeted them as they walked through the streets. Most people ignored them, like in the vault, Grace was a common sight. The regulars that littered Goodneighbor's rundown streets knew her and knew enough to leave her alone. She was a friend of Hancock's - rumor even swirled about that they had had many a romantic tryst while high as fucking kites. No one mentioned the rumors in front of either Hancock or Grace. The drifters didn't want to get shanked. And Hancock would surely stab them for either talking about his lady love or dishonoring her name. He had killed Finn on Grace's first day in Goodneighbor simply because he disrespected her. God only knew what he'd do to someone now that she was his friend. Anyone who had been in Goodneighbor long knew the pretty, clean blonde was untouchable. Even Murowski had sense enough to back off after Grace blew his chem smuggling business to hell. Anything and everything else in Goodneighbor was fair game, but touching one of Hancock's playthings was cause to get you in a world of pain.

Deacon held the door open for Grace as they made their way into the Memory Den. Kent's old radio plays could be heard gently wafting through the large theatre from his little living space. Grace liked Kent. He was a kindly little man, and she enjoyed spending time with him, reminiscing about the time before the bombs dropped. He was a good man.

"Hello, Dear." Irma greeted from her chaise lounge.

"Irma." Grace nodded. "I'm a little late for my appointment."

"It's all good." Irma smiled. "Doctor Amari is waiting downstairs for your session."

"Thanks." Grace walked passed the older blonde woman. Deacon said nothing as he passed. He had come to the Memory Den on many an occasion, not always with the same face. She knew of his affiliations, but it was an unwritten rule in the Memory Den to let the Railroad's business stay under wraps. Hancock turned a blind eye to their goings on, and with Amari doing so much work for them, he was glad she had a front room attendant that knew how to keep her mouth shut. Of course, that went for the other patrons to the Den as well. Lots of personal memories that could be seen, and Deacon had never heard of one leaving the Den's walls. Whatever non-disclosure agreement Irma had signed was apparently air tight.

"Doc." Grace greeted Amari as she walked into the basement work room.

"Evening." She replied. "I was starting to get worried."

"Rad storm." Grace shrugged.

"Tinker just left to get dinner from the 3rd Rail." Amari stretched, standing from the terminal she had been working at. Grace hadn't been down in the basement since she and Deacon started the process to smuggle H2-22 out of the Commonwealth. He was up in Maine now. Grace made sure she got him somewhere there that didn't have a large synth presence. H2 had been so scared and nervous when Stockton handed him off to her. She could sympathize; suddenly being taken away from a clean, safe world and thrown into a world of absolute chaos had been terrifying for Grace too.

"We'll wait." Grace sat down in the lounger. Tinker Tom eventually showed up and set to work decoding the chip. It took him two days to get through all the code and debug the damn thing, but he was able to work through it. Grace had the feeling he didn't sleep at all while he worked on it.

"Man, tell you what." Tinker Tom said after announcing he got through it all. "These Institute suits know how to code."

"Yeah, we figured as much, Tom."

"I mean, its all very complicated stuff, but the simplicity of the design is impressive."

"And? Can you get us in to the Institute?"

"Yeah, I think we can do."

"Oh, I could kiss you, Tom!" Grace exclaimed, wrapping him into a hug and kissing his temples.

"Problem. It's gonna take a lotta juice to get us in there. Juice I ain't got." Tinker stated after Grace let him go.

"What?" Deacon asked.

"We'd need to build a signal interceptor to get you in there. Imma need a reflector platform, relay dish, a beam emitter, a big-ass console to run it, and enough power to light up half of Boston, but once you get those, piece of snack cake." He shrugged.

"And where can get those… things?" Grace asked.

"Dunno. Probably need to build 'em, seeing as I just made 'em up."

"Can you build them?" Grace asked, starting to get annoyed by Tom adding more and more things that could go wrong with the plan.

"Yeah. We'd need some special junk to make 'em work, but yeah."

"What kind of special junk?"

Uh… Sensor modules, biometric scanner, a military-grade circuit board, a crap ton of wiring and non-military circuitry."

"Do you think Sturges would have some of that stuff?" Deacon asked, sensing Grace's growing frustration.

"Maybe some sensor modules or a scanner, but… Shit." Grace huffed and turned from the group of people. She was trying to think of any place that would have those items.

"We can make this work, Boss." Deacon reassured her, gently massaging her shoulder. "We can do this. We'll find something and make it work, okay? We're not giving up now."

Grace pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to muddle her way through thinking of what she needed to do.

"You know who would have those things?" Grace whispered to Deacon.

"No. Grace, no." Deacon shook his head, already two steps ahead of her. "We cannot ask Chuckles and his crew for anything. They are not good people."

"Deacon, what other options do we have?" Grace pleaded. "I'm so damn close to getting Shaun back. I can't… I can't let another obstacle stand in the way. I'd sell my soul if it meant I could get into that place and find my son."

"Please," Deacon begged. "We will find what we need, without the Brotherhood's help. Nothing good will come of bringing them down on the Commonwealth, I know it. Please. We can go to Sturges, he's bound to know where we can find those things, he'll help."

"I just want Shaun back." Grace sighed, tears brimming on the edges of her eyes.

"We'll get him back." Deacon promised. "Just not with the Brotherhood's help."

"Okay." Grace relented. "But, I reserve the right to reach out to them if Sturges can't help us."

"Fine. But he will." Deacon assured her, kissing the top of Grace's head before walking back to watch Tom plot out designed.


	12. Sanctuary

It took Tinker all of 10 minutes to draw together some designs for this signal interceptor of his. Complete with a list of parts needed for patching it together. Grace could tell just by looking at the blueprints it was going to take some time to scrounge everything up. Even trying to find the everyday things like wiring and screws would take a lot of bartering and a lot of scavenging to look for. And those specialty things, the biometric scanners and military-grade thingamajigs would be especially hard to track down. It would take time to find it all, time Grace was none too willing to spare.

She had her way into the Institute in the palm of her hand and she was still months out from actually getting there. It was cruel, is what it was. Shaun was so close and it was torture to know he would have to wait that much longer. But she would do it. She would be up and out combing the wastes at the crack of dawn each morning scavenging for Tinker's parts, and nothing would stop her. Well, almost nothing.

"Well, looky here." A friendly voice with a slight southern drawl chortled as Grace made her way over the bridge and down the road into Sanctuary. Dogmeat bounded forward, barking happily to greet his friend. Sturges knelt down on one knee, scratching the old dog's ears, accepting all the kisses Dogmeat could manage to lick on his face. "That's enough." Sturges laughed, wiping the dog slobber off, to see Grace come home.

Compared to the rest of the silent woods that surrounded their quiet inlet, Sanctuary was damn near as close to a city as Diamond city was. Most of the old houses still stood. Those that were too worn down to be refurbished were torn apart and cannibalized to fix them that could take it. Roofs didn't leak, Windows had their broken glass removed and shutters placed over them. Sanctuary's water purifiers were on the far end of the island, and from the bridge she could see some settlers busy at work building a water wheel near its generator. From the looks of it, the builders had dug out a new course for the river to follow, cutting it so that water flowed inland from the other side of the island and looped back out near the water purifiers to create a steady stream to move the wheel. It took longer to build, and they had been digging the new water course for months, but the constantly moving new stream would create the largest source of energy the generators would need. By Sturges' best guess, they would be able to cut their Mr. Handy fuel consumption by 80% over the next five years. He was real proud of that. Best thing Grace ever did for this place was find an old civil engineering book for Sturges. There was a common house with trading posts just inside the island. It served as both a resting place, bar, and meeting space for Sanctuary's citizens and merchants. Behind it a ways was a ramshackle bath house and outhouse. The rumors were true, Sturges had managed to build an underground septic system for the bathhouse that even managed to separate greywater from black-water - after Grace had to explain what those archaic terms meant and how to differentiate the two - black-water went to the septic, greywater got pumped back out into the river. Sturges was trying to figure out how to make his system work in some of the more urban settlements under Minuteman protection, like Hangman's, but there was only so much a man without a jackhammer could do about all that concrete.

The center of the island, where once stood a small playground, were 3 large plots of farmland. Any vegetable or edible plant that the settlers could get their hands on went into those plots, and majority of settlers worked the land day after day. If a settler showed an aptitude for thinking like Sturges, they were set to work on rebuilding one thing or another, but most people toiled in the field. One of the old houses housed a medic that was trained by Doc Sun a few years earlier, they had travelled the wastes in the meantime, but Doc Clarence was getting too old to be on the move everyday, and settled down in Sanctuary to open a practice. The house she occupied had the old guest bedroom turned into a surgery where she tended to everything from stitches to setting broken bones. She was good in a pinch, but was no Doctor Forsythe.

It was near dusk when Grace finally crossed that bridge into Sanctuary. She could see the faint, welcoming glow of candles being lit inside houses. People would be settling down for the night, enjoying supper and each other's company. Most houses held at least six people - three to a bedroom, more if the house was big enough. Few of the settlers that had found Sanctuary had families. They were drifters when they came here, looking for a place that was safe. Many had been part of failed farms and settlements, their friends and families killed off by raiders or other wasteland monsters. Those that did come with families were usually given a room amongst themselves. A few complained about the tight living condition, but most were grateful for a place where they could sleep easy. Admittedly, Grace didn't come back here very often. Too many memories that haunted her thoughts when she looked around the ruins of her former home. But there was one thing here now that brought her some comfort.

"Hi." Grace smiled, jogging lightly to Sturges who stood on the common house's porch with outstretched arms. Wrapping them around Grace, he pulled her into him and lifted her up for a kiss. Dogmeat yipped again, dancing around the pair jovially. He was just as happy to see Grace and Sturges reunited as Grace was. Sturges had surprisingly soft lips that tasted faintly of bourbon. It had been months since they had seen each other last. Not since before she put a bullet in Kellogg's temple, and Grace hadn't realized just how much she missed his touch, his lips, the smell of him; earthy musk, grease, and whiskey, the smell of a mechanic. Her hands wrapped around the back of his head, kneading into his hair and pulling him down into her. Tightening his arms, Sturges squeezed around her wounded ribs.

"Ow." She hissed, pulling out of their kiss.

"Sorry." Sturges apologized, letting go of her. Grace wanted to protest, to be held close, but she stepped away, giving her side a moment to stop throbbing. "Preston told me you were injured. What happened? Are you alright? Do you want Clarence to look at it?"

"One question at a time." Grace smirked, pulling Sturges' head back toward her. She kissed him again, planting her lips at the corner of his mouth. Smiling, he nuzzled his cheek against her.

"That's not an answer." He joked, a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose before pulling away.

"Which do you want me to answer first?" Grace asked, her eyes fluttering behind him into the common house. A few Minutemen and caravan guards sat at the bar and in some of the chairs, but none of them seemed to notice their general and her engineer kissing in the sunset. Grace took hold of Sturges' hand and walked further into the large settlement.

"Well, I guess what happened to you would be a good place to start."

"Frag mine." Grace answered honestly.

"Jesus H. Christ." Sturges stopped walking, looking at her in astonishment. "How are you not dead?"

"It was a ways away. A feral set it off when it got all riled up, I just got hit with some shrapnel."

"I don't like how nonchalant you are about this, Grace." Sturges sighed. "That's some serious business."

"I'm okay. Got checked out by the Doc in 81. He gave me the all clear."

"I guess that'll do… Preston said there was a man with you when he saw you?"

"Yeah. His people patched me up when the mine went off. They needed supplies, so I took him to 81 as payment for the assist."

"Mighty nice of you. I know them 81 folks aren't too friendly to Outsiders."

"They are if I vouch for them." Grace laughed.

"Most of the commonwealth would jump if you told 'em too." Sturges agreed. "Bunch of fools."

"Hey." Grace playfully shoved him away. She turned up the sidewalk to a darkened house. Her house, the house she and Nate had put all of their money into to buy. Sometimes, when she came back here she stayed in the common house rather than sleep with the memories in that house. It was easier to sleep there when Sturges stayed with her. Less haunted when he was in bed next to her. None of her old furniture was still in the house. Except for that stupid clock. Even now she hated that clock, but it was one of the only things Grace couldn't bare to part with. She tore everything else out, gave it to the common house, and stole a bed and furniture from one of the unused houses down the way. She would not sleep in her marriage bed when her husband lay frozen in a cryogenic grave. She would not lounge on a sofa that she had once watch sitcoms about incompetent men with wives they didn't deserve, while all those incompetent men and their wives had died in a flash of atomic destruction. She would not stare out her living room window to see Nate's beloved car rusting away after centuries of neglect. Almost everything from her old life was gone, and she could not bare the ghosts that haunted her memories.

"Only one who should jump when told to is me." Sturges replied as they stopped on Grace's doorstep, grabbing her hips, his fingers digging lovingly into her bones. Longing colored his eyes as his head dipped down, tongue gently caressing her bottom lip.

"I have something I need you to work on." Grace pulled away from his lips reluctantly.

"That can wait until tomorrow." His hand tugging her hips into his, grinding softly against her denim jeans.

"Business, then pleasure." Grace chided. "I need your help with something you might find interesting."

"What's more interesting than this?" Sturges' fingers lightly traced around the band of Grace's jeans, pinching at the button.

"I need you -"

"Yeah, you do." He growled, lips lightly tracing along her jawline. Grace's resolve started to crumble the moment teeth began nibbling on her ear. Biting back a moan, Grace wrapped her arms around his shoulders, silently asking him to keep going. "That's right." Sturges chuckled, his fingers dipping inside her waist band.

"I need - stop it." She pulled his hand out of her pants. "I need you to help me build a signal interceptor to get inside the Institute."

"What?" Sturges asked, he stopped nibbling her ear, the lobe still clasped between his teeth. He let go of her ear. Standing up straight, Sturges gazed off into the night, his mind running through the possibilities of Grace's request. "That is interesting…" He murmured, dropping his hands from her hips. "Signal interceptor, you say?"

"That's how the synths get in and out of the Institute. They teleport, Sturges."

"You need to hijack the signal and ride it down to creeper town."

"In a manner of speaking, yes." She laughed, shaking her head. Turning from Sturges, Grace opened the door to the dark house.

"Ah, Miss Grace." The metallic, accented voice of Codsworth greeted her as she dropped her pack by the door and lit the lantern in the living room. "It is good to see you alright and returned to us in one piece, Mum."

"Evening, Codsworth." Grace replied, her hand patting his bulbous, metal body. She knew he couldn't feel her touch, but something about that small physical connection made both her and the robot feel close to one another. No matter what ghosts and memories Grace tried to purge herself of, Codsworth would never be one of them.

"Will you be staying long this time, Miss Grace?" Codsworth asked. "I do worry after you when you are gone."

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I've got some things I need Sturges' help with," Grace pointed behind her at the man as he walked through the door, "but I have a feeling I may need to go scavenging in the wastes for a while. Lots of stuff I need to find."

"Might I say, that if you do require braving the Commonwealth, I wish to accompany you again, Mum. The Commonwealth is no place to wander alone. And, while I do know your dear Dogmeat to be an excellent companion, I would feel better if you had company that had a little more _fire_ power. Ahaha." Codsworth laughed at his own joke as the fire from his thrusters briefly flared up.

"Gotta admit, that was a good one." Sturges chuckled along with the robot.

"Why, thank you, Sir. I do aim to please. Is there anything you require before retiring for the evening, Miss Grace?"

"Can you make sure Dogmeat has some food and water? It's been a while since he hasn't eaten anything that wasn't raw radstag."

"Of course. Come along, Master Dogmeat. I believe we have some cans of Alpo around here somewhere." Dogmeat trotted along behind the robot, sniffing the air in the wake of Codsworth's thrusters. Lit lantern in hand, Grace slowly walked down the hallway towards her bedroom, eying the closed door to Shaun's nursery. It had been her office before he was born. Was supposed to always be her office. But one romantic, and rather public display, in a park changed that rather quickly. Grace had never wanted to be a mother, Nate didn't feel he deserved to be a father. Shaun was an accident, but Grace fell in love with him the moment she knew she was pregnant. He was her son, he was all she had left of Nate. His dog tags and wedding ring were irreplaceable trinkets, but Shaun was real. He was alive. And looking at the door that led to his nursery was a painful reminder that she had failed to protect him.

"Grace." Sturges softly cooed, pulling Grace passed the door and into her bedroom. "Tell me about this signal interceptor." He knelt down beside the bed as Grace sat, his calloused fingers gently pulling off the hodgepodge of armor she wore over her flannel shirt and jeans. A small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of her mouth while fingers carded through his thick hair. She told him everything: Kellogg's death, Coursers, teleportation, the signal hidden in the classical music station, the Railroad's involvement and Tinker Tom's blueprints, his specialty items, everything.

"This is… heavy." Sturges sighed, laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "I mean, I'll help. Of course, I'll help." His hand took hold of Grace's. "But, I'll need to look over this Tom guy's designs. And those things you need - the bio scanner and stuff - I might have the scanner laying around in my scrap. Maybe a sensor module or two. But that stuff is slim pickings."

"Any idea where we could find them?"

"Bio scanners? I'd try some hospitals. That circuit board will be the tricky one. Maybe some of the military posts, but all of those have been picked clean. Scavvers tend to flock to those kinds of places."

"You ever heard of the Brotherhood of Steel?" Grace asked, turning attention from the ceiling to Sturges' face.

"Yeah, a bit." Sturges nodded. "There was a bit of a nasty dust up down in D.C. a few years back. Brotherhood won, took over most of Capital Wasteland. Didn't think you'd have heard of 'em, though."

"I hadn't until recently. Do you think they could have one of those circuit boards?"

"Could be." Sturges nodded. "But, far as I can see, they're all down in D.C., so not much good to us up here."

"There's a couple of them holed up in Cambridge. The man that I took to 81, he's a paladin in the Brotherhood. They were trying to set up a long-range transmitter to get word back to D.C…. I could ask for it - the circuit board. Danse owes me a favor."

"Danse?"

"The man, the paladin. That's his name."

"Interesting name."

"He's an interesting man."

"Oh? Do I have some competition?" Sturges, chuckled, rolling onto his stomach and resting his head on his arm to look at Grace.

"Maybe." Grace sighed, leaning in to kiss Sturges again.

"Are you, uh… Is it okay for you - for us to, ya know… If we -"

"We can have sex." Grace laughed. "I just can't move my hips or ribs much. No cowgirls for you." Her hand gliding along Sturges' cheek.

"Damn. That's my favorite."

"I am well aware."

"Guess we'll just have to do my second favorite." Sturges purred, shifting on the bed so he lay between Grace's legs, her thighs resting on his shoulders and fingers deftly undoing the buttons.

"Thought your second favorite was when I suck your dick?"

"That's in a league of it's own, Darlin'." He sighed, gingerly pulling Grace's jeans from her hips. "No, this," His mouth slowly kissed its way up her thigh, tongue dancing across her skin and teeth nipping at the soft flesh. "This is definitely a favorite."

* * *

Morning light streamed in from a crack in the shuttered window. It shone in Grace's closed eyes, annoying her into waking up. Turning from the light, Grace opened her eyes to see Sturges' bare back sidled up next to her. Smiling, her hand reached out to pet his hair. Grace had never intended to start whatever this was with him. One sorrowful, drunken night had changed that.

It had only been a few months after she left the vault when it happened. Sanctuary was just barely getting up on its feet. None of the crops were taking, the wells they had built seemed to just evaporate and run dry within days, and there had been no sign of any game animal to hunt in weeks. Things were not easy for the Quincy survivors in those early days. But Grace found a stockpile of booze in the root cellar to Old Jahani's house, and one evening, decided fuck it they had had enough misery. They might as well drink their problems away.

Jun didn't drink anything, Marcy had a glass of whiskey, Mama Murphy said she preferred chems, and Preston passed out before the sun had even set. But, Sturges just kept on drinking with her. Matching Grace glass for glass as they drank their way into the darkness. Most of that night became one foggy blur after another, but what she did remember was pulling Sturges into her bedroom, and him drunkenly fucking her against the wall.

Both the alcohol and the sex had been cathartic in a way. For the first time in months she felt something besides grief and anger with bourbon blazing down her throat and Sturges pounding her into the wall, the mattress, and eventually the floor. It felt good. But she couldn't stay drunk and orgasming forever, and her long trips away from Sanctuary, away from Sturges, made that grief and sorrow and pain flood back to the point where she couldn't ignore it. Skeletons lined the streets; how many had she known? Ghosts flooded her memories; how could she have failed them so easily? Sturges wasn't there, but Med-x was. It made her not care anymore. It gave her the same high as her drunken orgasms without him.

Grace had been traveling with Preston at the time. She thought she hid the chem use pretty damn well from him. He never said anything to her about it, never shot her a disapproving glare when she was high as a fucking kite. Chance encounter in Goodneighbor changed that. Hancock took one look at her one day and instantly knew she was jonesing.

"Coulda spotted you a mile away, Sister." He grumbled. "Junkies like you always gotta tell." Grace had already made quite a name for herself when she first met Hancock - taking out raiders, Muties, and just about any damn creature she could get her hands on, only days away from retaking the Castle. Killing meant caps, caps meant chems. "Now, I wonder to myself," Hancock pondered, looking Grace over as she stood in his apartment in the Old State Building, "am I generous enough to get you the fix you need? Or am I an asshole?"

Grace had just taken out Bobbi No-Nose for him, and here he was grandstanding? "You're an asshole." Grace spat. She didn't expect anything from him, didn't even really want anything from except the caps needed to buy another vial.

"Yeah, guess I am." He chuckled, handing her a small inhaler.

"Not my ride of choice." Grace scoffed.

"Not mine, either. More of a Mentats man." Hancock chuckled. "But, between you and me, you're better off with the addictiol than whatever shits got you messed. You need to slow down, Sister. Your kid needs you up and functional, ya dig?"

Hancock got her clean, Deacon kept her sober, and Sturges made her happy. It took awhile before she could appreciate nights with him without being near blackout drunk. But it was worth it, to see him now, content and remembering exactly what he did to make her feel that way.

"What?" Sturges groggily grumbled, pulling his head away from her fingers.

"It's morning." Grace sighed, turning on her side and wrapped her arms around his chest. Playing with his chest hair between her fingers, she languidly kissed the nape of his neck. Shuddering at her touch, he chuckled.

"30 more minutes." He yawned, stretching out his body like a cat.

"Sun's already up." Grace cooed, kissing his neck one last time before sitting on the bed. It was a chilly morning. Her skin instantly pimpled into gooseflesh once her blankets fell away from her naked body.

"Doesn't mean we have to be."

"We've got work to do." She stretched her arms into the air. She overextended, pulling on the sore ribs and cried out in pain.

"What? What is it?" Sturges demanded, bolting upright to check on Grace. There was worry in his face as he watched her body double over in agony, clutching at her wound.

"I'll be okay." She hissed, tears bubbling in her eyes. "Just stretched too far." Grace took a moment to sit still, quietly listening to the world around her. She could hear Sanctuary coming to life outside of her bedroom. Most settlers would already be up and at work, probably wondering where the hell Sturges got off too. Not too many people knew of Sturges and Grace's little rendezvous whenever she was in Sanctuary. She knew rumors abound about her. Half of the people she knew were rumored to be her lover. But she only had the one, and very few even guessed it was him.

"Do you want me to get you… something?" Sturges asked, reaching a hand out to stroke her back.

"There's some pain meds in my pack. I need two pills." Grace groaned, willing the throbbing away.

"Ok." Sturges exited the room without putting any clothes on.

From the hallway, Grace heard Codsworth greet Sturges, "Ah, good morn - Mr. Sturges, do put some clothes on!"

"No time for that." Sturges replied, returning with Grace's pack in hand as he rummaged through it, looking for her meds. "Why do you have so many damn bobby pins?" He asked, opening a small box full of them.

"They come in handy." She replied, taking the pills from him as soon as he found them and downing them without water. In the living room, Grace heard Codsworth turn on the radio. It was permanently set to Radio Freedom, where a jaunty rendition of Glory Glory Hallelujah was being broadcast through the house.

"You gonna be alright?" Sturges asked.

"Give me a minute."

"I got to get to work, Grace." She could hear the tear in his voice. He didn't want to leave her while she was in pain, but knew he would have to soon if he wanted to get anything done today.

"Go. I'll be fine." She shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

"Find me once you feel better. We can start planning out where you can look for those specialty parts."

"I will." She nodded into the covers, still crumpled over in pain. "Hey," she called out to him after Sturges got dressed and was headed out the door, "you forgot to kiss me goodbye."

"How could I forget something so important?" He chuckled, coming over to Grace's bed, and kissing the top of her head. "You shaved your head again."

"Yeah. It was getting annoying."

"I liked it when you kept it long. On all sides." He added before Grace could protest. Technically, every side but the left of her head had long hair.

"I might grow it out this time." She sighed, finally sitting upright. The ribs stung, but it wasn't agonizing. "We'll see. I just think I look cool like this."

"Hey," Sturges took her chin between his fingers. "You're cool no matter what you do with your hair. I would want to kiss you every damn minute of the day otherwise." Pulling her chin up to him, he kissed the tip of her nose before resting his forehead against her. "I've missed you."

Grace smiled. Happiness was rare in the Commonwealth.


	13. Shattered Glass

Grace and Sturges spent most of the morning huddled over his workshop in small shack he had assembled next door to Grace's house. They poured over old maps and zoning grids of the greater Boston area looking for viable places to find Grace's special items. There were plenty of hospitals in the area to scrounge through. But the circuitry and other gadgets Tinker wanted?

"There's an old National Guard post up by Crossings' settlement." Sturges sighed. "Last I heard it was crawling with ferals so no one wanted to touch it."

"Great. More ferals." Grace chortled, gingerly rubbing her ribs.

"What about that post where Kellogg was holed up?"

"It was a government building." Grace shook her head. "Not military."

"Still, could have something." Sturges countered, resting his weight on his palms as he leaned into the work bench. "Wasn't there a listening post south of Jamaica Plains?"

"Crawling with Gunners. I'm on their shit list."

"Because of McCready?"

"Yeah. Got word that Duncan is doing better, though."

"Good to hear. I know it was hard on him deciding to go back to the Capital. You two were good friends."

"He needed to be with his son. I understand that. Probably better than most."

"Honestly, Grace, I think that National Guard post is going to be your best bet." Sturges offered after a moment of silence.

"Yeah." Grace agreed.

"You gonna take Codsworth with you?" Sturges asked, already fully aware that Grace would move out as soon as possible now that she had a heading.

"Yeah, I think it would be good to spend some time with the ol' Bot again."

"He cares about you, that's for damn sure." Sturges observed, looking over to Grace. She nodded her head solemnly. Codsworth had always been a loyal little robot. Specifically to her. That wasn't to say that he disliked Nate - his programming wouldn't allow for that - but there had always been a special little bond between the two. Codsworth had been a present from Grace's mother only a couple of months after Shaun was born. Nate was apprehensive about activating the robot, but Grace couldn't wait to turn Codsworth on and see how much housework he would actually do. The more he did the less Grace would have to do. He became her family. The only family she had right now and she loved him dearly.

"I'm gonna go tell him to get ready to head out." Grace turned to leave the shop.

"Grace -" Sturges grabbed her arm before she could leave. "Just… I don't ask for much. I know you've got important work that needs done, but… Just stay a little longer at least? I don't know when I'll see you next. Just a little while longer?"

His grip on her arm was light. She could pull free if she really wanted. And Sturges wouldn't hold it against her if she did. But, by God, he had missed Grace. He hated her proclivity to disappear for weeks at a time; hated the dread he felt that every announcement from Radio Freedom would be that she was dead or injured. He wouldn't admit it, but when Preston had told him Grace had been injured out in the wastes, Sturges nearly tore like a bat out of hell to Oberland to find her and make sure she was okay. He wouldn't admit it, because losing Nate was still so fresh, but Sturges was in love with that driven spitfire of a woman. And every time she left he found it harder and harder to breathe without knowing she was safe.

Grace stared up into his pleading eyes, willing herself to make her choice. She needed to leave; needed to get a head start on Tinker's project. But Sturges' eyes, begging her to stay just a little bit longer; his voice, normally so loud and joyful, twinged with pain and fear. Just stay a little bit longer.

"Sturges…"

"I won't blame you if ya walk. I know its important. Hell, I… I just want a little more time. Just - Just stay for another couple days. The post isn't too far. You and Codsworth could be there -"

"Don't do this. Don't make me choose." Grace whispered, shaking her head. A bubble of sorrow and anger billowing in her chest. "You know what I have to do. You've known since we met. He's finally within my reach, and you're asking me to hold off?

"I'm not saying give up and stay here forever, Grace. I'm just asking for a little more time with you. That's all."

"We'll have all the time in the world once I get my son back."

"You don't - You don't understand what it's like, Grace. When you're gone.. It's like I can't breathe. Every moment spent waiting to hear about you, worried if you're ok. If you stay here a little longer - "

"You think I don't know what that's like?" She hissed at him. The bubble burst. Anger consumed her chest, rage burning her lungs as she stared Sturges' accusation down. "This breathless anxiety and… fear. Its my every waking moment since being forced into this hellscape. Since I lost everything. My husband, my son, my entire fucking family and every god damn person I had ever known. I was stuck in that god damned tube and there was nothing I could do while I watched my son get ripped from me and my husband murdered. Don't tell me I don't understand what you're feeling because it is the only thing I know. And the only thing I can do is keep moving, keep looking, and I do what I have to because if I don't I will fucking drown in this nightmare. You were supposed to understand that."

"I do. Grace, I do. But this doesn't have to be a fight -"

"No, it does. My son comes first. I've done some shitty things, but I'm finally on the right path and I will not stop. I do what I have to. Don't ask me for anything more than that." Grace yanked her arm from his grasp, walking out of Struges' workshop. "You were supposed to be different." Grace stopped walking, but kept her back to him. "You weren't supposed want anything from me."

"I don't."

"Preston wanted a General. Piper wanted a story. And you want time. I have spent a year and a half looking for him. I can't waste anymore."

"Grace…"

"Codsworth," Grace called as she walked into her old house, anger wavering in her voice. "we're leaving on the hour."

She stormed through the house to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Dogmeat trotted to the bedroom from the kitchen, pawing at the decaying wood to be let in. With a whimper, he laid down in front of the door, whining to be let inside.

"Miss Grace?" Codsworth asked after hearing the door slam. "May I come in?"

"Yeah." Grace answered after a moment of silence. The robot opened the door to see Grace sitting on the bed, fishing through her pack.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Mum, but I did hear some of what was said with Mister Sturges."

"Can we not do this right now?"

"Of course, Mum. But, I would like to say that no matter what decisions you make, or how hard things may seem out here, I will always be proud to call you my mistress. You have done many great things in the Commonwealth, and I do know the time it has taken to find young Shaun has taken its toll on you. But we will find Master Shaun. We will bring him home."

"Did I overreact, Codsworth?" Grace asked, pulling the small silver box from the pack.

"It is not my place to say, I am afraid. But I do know this: I want to see Master Shaun back home, safe, as much as you do, Mum. I wish for us to… to be a family once more. And if that means letting other relationships fall by the wayside until that goal has been accomplished? Then so be it. Family is what matters most in times as bleak as these."

* * *

Deacon quietly walked through the back alleys of the ruined city, keeping to the shadows and low lit areas. He knew they wouldn't see him, he was still too many blocks away from their little compound to be noticed. But Deacon preferred to remain unseen when we was wandering alone. The last time he had been here, he was in and out of that diner too fast to truly take stock of what had happened in the Square. But coming in from the north east, Deacon finally saw it. There was a small hole in the asphalt, could've been easily mistaken for a pothole if there hadn't been scorch marks surrounding it. A nearby truck had all sorts of shrapnel of metal and what looked to be a feral ghoul's bone embedded in its side. A piece of shrapnel that was nearly four inches long stuck out from the rusted, old door. Deacon gingerly touched it, marveling at the shear force needed to embed it in the truck door.

"God damn." He cursed, pulling the shrapnel out in utter disbelief that Grace had survived the blast. There was a small trail of blood that started a few meters back from the blast site. The blood snaked along the road, turning into the diner where Grace had hid the pack before coming back out and leading to the police station. Deacon followed the trail for about a block before turning off the main road, down a shady side street and into an old office building.

Three floors up and in the room furthest from the police station but still had a decent view sat one of Drummer Boy's tourists. Deacon kicked a busted desk on his way into the office. Frightened, the tourist shot from his chair, turning a gun on Deacon.

"Woah there, just looking for a geiger counter." Deacon said, hands raising in the air. Deacon hadn't told Grace he sent a Tourist out to Cambridge when we set the dead drop for Hawthorne to report in to Diamond City.

"Sorry, Bub. Mine's in the shop." The tourist responded, lowering the gun and turned back toward the windows. "Been pretty quiet. There's three of 'em. Big Guy I've only seen a few times - always in a suit of power armor. Skinny lady comes out on the perimeter gate every now and again, but she and the Big Guy have been working on something up on the roof. And Bald Guy is usually on guard duty on the fence. Don't see what watchin' them has to do with them Chrome Domes, though."

"Doesn't matter for us tourists, does it? HQ says jump, we jump." Deacon replied. "You're relieved. I'll take it from here." The tourist left quietly through the back of the building as Deacon sat to keep watch over the intruders to the Commonwealth. The tourist was right, not much was going on as Danse and his scribe worked on the roof to put together the transmitter they were building from scratch. The third man was nowhere to be seen, but Deacon knew he was somewhere inside the station. They may have been brotherhood yahoos, but Danse wouldn't be stupid enough to let one of his men go off on his own in unknown terrain.

Deacon's mind was starting to wander from boredom when movement to the north east caught his attention. Two radstag doe and a couple fawns walked slowly through the streets, quietly foraging for food. The fawns were still young enough to have their spots on their coat. The babies stayed close to their mothers, uncertain of their journey into the humans' former domain. The does stooped their heads to nuzzle at random inedible objects before moving closer to Deacon's hiding spot. The mangy deer slowly walked down the road, careful to mind their surroundings, but seemingly unafraid of the possibility of meeting humans. Their presence cemented the fact that majority of the ferals that had hunkered down in Cambridge had been wiped out. They passed under Deacon's spot, turning off into an alleyway and making their way west out of Cambridge. He watched them disappear before turning his attention back to the police station.

Danse and the scribe were still on the roof. He couldn't understand it. Deacon just could not understand how Danse could join up with the Brotherhood. Danse had so much potential to do good. Deacon had known that from the moment he had met the man. How - How?! - could Danse honestly believe the Brotherhood was the right place to effect change? What in God's name happened to him to push him into the arms of the Brotherhood and toe that goddamn racist line.

Something was happening now. The scribe was jumping with apparent joy as she took ahold of the receiver on their gerry-rigged transmitter. She recoiled slightly when Danse took the receiver from her.

"Shit." Deacon swore as he watched the soldiers hailed their command back in D.C. Whatever they were talking about was brief. It only took a couple minutes before Danse hung up on command.

The third soldier joined Danse on the roof after a few moments. The three of them sat on the roof, huddled around their transmitter like cavemen around a fire. None of them seemed to speak to one another; just sat in the radio silence as if waiting patiently for a reply.

Deacon sat in the shadows of his own building, waiting for any of them to make a move. He would have killed for a smoke as he sat in silence. But he knew better. The soldiers were preoccupied, but Deacon was only about 50 yards from them. If he could see them, they could see him, and they would be able to see the flicker of his lighter. Time moved slowly as they waited from word back from the Capital; why else would they just be sitting there?

Deacon watched the buildings around the station, trying to suss out a closer spot where he could listen to their conversation. He could hoof it up to the roof of his current building, but the sun was drawing close to the noon zenith and there would be few shadows to hide within. There was an old warehouse closer to the station that Deacon could potentially listen from, but moving there would take away his visual on the three yahoos.

Weighing his option, Deacon decided eavesdropping would yield better information than just watching them sit there. Leaving the post his tourist had set up, Deacon carefully snaked his way across the street to the warehouse. There were a plethora of busted out windows to crawl through, but Deacon took his time to check for any ferals. Shooting through ferals would alert Danse and his team that they weren't alone and it would be best to avoid that confrontation. First floor was clear, which bode well for the higher levels. Once inside, he moved carefully to the roof.

There was a three foot tall half wall that surrounded the roof. Deacon hunkered down behind the wall closest to the station. His view of them was shot, but he could hear a static voice coming through the radio.

"It's good to hear from you, Old Man." The voice stated. "I understand from Scribe Bendis that you have information on the Institute."

Deacon listened intensely as the Paladin informed his commanding officer of the situation in the Commonwealth. Deacon had heard the voice on the radio once before. It have been a number of years ago when Deacon was still running with caravans and smuggling synths out of the Commonwealth, at a rally where a kid was named Elder of the Brotherhood. Arthur was 15 years old and Deacon nearly shit himself listening to the boy who would be king. There was no denying that Maxson was charismatic and charming, but there was danger in his words. Words that had mimicked Deacon's own when he was a stupid teenager. Danse would have joined the Brotherhood not too soon after that rally, Deacon suspected.

"I know someone who has a way into the Institute. But, the situation here is difficult… She deals in fair trades. And, if we want her to give us something, we're going to have to make a deal."

"Reinforcements." Arthur's voice answered.

"Exactly. However, it gets a little more complicated than that."

"No shit, Sherlock." Deacon muttered. Grace would never accept a deal that meant bringing an army into the 'Wealth.

"I think if we come here with the purpose of solely keeping peace, she may change her mind."

"Yeah right, Chuckles." Deacon wanted to laugh. Peace that comes at the end of a loaded barrel was no peace at all.

"Do you think it would work?" Maxson asked. Even Deacon could hear the trepidation in the Elder's voice.

"No." Deacon scoffed.

"We have to try, don't we?" Danse asked.

"I'm trusting your judgement on this one, Old Man. You'll have your reinforcements in a few days."

"Shit." Deacon grumbled, hurriedly scrambling across the roof to the exit. Grace needed to know what the Brotherhood was planning. They were going to use Grace, just like he had said they would. Climbing out the window he had come in from, Deacon unrolled the sleeve of his shirt. A piece of chalk fell into his hand, and Deacon casually walked toward one of the barricades that surrounded the police station.

"Danger." He muttered as he scratched out the chalky rail sign on the corner of the barrier.

"Hey!" A voice yelled from the steps of the station. "The fuck are you doing?"

The hand that held the chalk casually made its way around to Deacon's backside. He crumbled it, small pieces falling from his hand while seamlessly pulling a lighter from his back pocket.

"Smoke break." Deacon replied, his other hand pulling a cigarette from his chest pocket. Walking toward the main gate, Deacon lit the cigarette, drawing a long pull from it.

"I suggest you get out of here." Rhys ordered, pulling his rifle to the crook of his shoulder and pointing it at Deacon.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist." Deacon mumbled, cigarette still in his mouth.

"I won't warn you again."

"Listen, kid." Deacon stood just inside the gate, point blank in front of Rhys, his hands raised lackadaisically in the air to show he was unarmed. "I'm no threat. Just drifting through."

"Then keep drifting." Rhys nudged the rifle toward the street to tell Deacon to move on.

"Ya'll yahoos need to learn to relax." Deacon turned to leave. The door behind Rhys opened, revealing Danse in full power armor. "Aw, Jesus." Deacon groaned.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Paladin asked. It took Danse a moment of shock to assess the situation of Rhys pulling his gun on some unknown civilian. His fingers twitched, reaching for the rifle that he had recently given away.

"He was… loitering." Rhys replied, realizing how pathetic of an excuse it was the moment the word left his lips.

"Loitering?" Danse repeated. He walked past Rhys, pushing the barrel of the gun to the ground with his hand. "I apologize for - Aw, Jesus." Danse grumbled when he realized it was Deacon standing at the gate. "What business do you have here, Deacon?"

"Oh, you know. Just selling encyclopedias door to door. Interested?" He replied, puffing a ring of smoke toward the sky.

"Please, do not tell me you are the patrol that Grace was sending to Cambridge."

"Eyy." Deacon confirmed with a smirk. Making a mental note to tell Grace his cover story.

"I fail to see how you would be of any use to us. We have no need for a scout with no true ties to the Minutemen aside from being Grace's -"

"Woah, watch yourself before you say something we'll both regret."

"Leave." Danse warned.

"Aw, c'mon, Chuckles. Not even gonna introduce me to your friend."

"Chuckles?" Rhys quirked an eyebrow.

"Not now Rhys. Deacon, leave this premises."

"All right, I'm going. But, just so you're aware, there's a Mutie scouting party about 5 miles east of here. Saw 'em near the old Red Rocket. From the way one of 'em was beeping, I'm guessing they have a couple Mini's on 'em. So, stay inside, Kiddies." Deacon turned to leave the gate. "Oh," He added as an afterthought, turning back to face the two soldiers and snapping his fingers like he just remembered something important. "The Minutemen have gotten a couple reports of a Deathclaw spotted in the area. It was a ways west, past that old Arcject building. So… But, hey, what use is a scout, right?"

"Thank you for the information." Danse answered through gritted teeth.

"See ya around, Chuckles." Deacon finally left the compound.

"I thoroughly dislike that man." Danse grumbled, watching Deacon walk away.

"Chuckles?" Rhys asked again.

"He's a… friend of Grace's. Apparently he disapproves of my disposition." Danse's eyes only left Deacon's back for a moment to look at Rhys. When he turned back to the street, Deacon was gone, disappeared into an alleyway.


End file.
